An Australian Phan in Paris
by Little Lathril
Summary: Sam finds her way to 19th century Paris through a convenient man hole on her way to school, just in time to wreak havoc on the life of poor Erik! Pure, unadulterated crack. 50-something chapters worth of it.
1. Arrival

Disclaimer:_ Erik, you can handle this one, I believe?_  
Erik: She owns nothing in this phic besides her own name and the belongings she drags with her.  
_Well, that was succinct._

**Chapter One: Arrival**

Sam slipped a new CD into her discman as she walked, breaking stride for a few seconds as she pushed her CD case back into her open schoolbag, still on her back, and put the discman into her blazer pocket, pressing play.

The powerful strains of an organ flooded through her ears and her pace quickened. She was on her daily walk to school, 15 minutes away with only 5 minutes until the bell went for homeroom.

_In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came  
That voice which calls to me and speaks my name..._

Sam's voice joined Christine's for the next lines.  
_  
And do I dream again, for now I find  
The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind..._

A few of the people she passed looked at her strangely. She had to admit the sight of a 17 year old school girl, singing aloud with headphones clearly visible to all would be odd. With a mental shrug, she looked to the sky which was overcast and threatening rain. Her footsteps quickened further, hoping as she was to reach her school before the heavens broke. Gerard Butler's alluring voice filled her head.

_Sing once again with me, our strange duet... _(Teach it to me, Sam thought)  
_My power over you grows stronger yet_ (damn straight)  
_And though you turn from me to glance behind..._

Over the music, she heard someone wolf whistle and her head snapped around of its own accord...

_The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind..._

She turned back to her path with an impatient shake of the head... and stepped into nothing. She fell forward with a scream into the uncovered manhole, closing her eyes so that she wouldn't see the bottom she was undoubtedly going to hit.

She fell for longer than she thought she should have, voice becoming so hoarse her scream became a rasp. She opened her eyes wide to darkness. The hole she was falling down had widened out and when she looked up, she could see no light above her. For a crazy moment, she felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Her CD had stopped, she realised, looking down. A stone floor rushed up to meet her and shge managed a single high pitched shriek before she hit it.

_Erik: Ooh, the drama._  
Cue the depressed genius...  
Erik stalked angrily along the hallways under his opera house. Everything he did these days was either angry or depressed. He wondered, not for the first time, why he had not fled Paris or ended his torment months ago. Something in him, though, refused to allow him to leave the place that had been his home and refuge for so many years.

His musings were interrupted as he almost tripped over a form lying on the ground. He looked down and frowned deeply. Crumpled at his feet was a dark haired girl in the strangest clothing he had ever seen. She wore a knee lenght green and white checked dress with a maroon jumper and jacket of some description. _(Authoress: It's called a blazer. Erik: I stand corrected)_ Her long legs were covered by almost knee length grey socks and her cracked leather shoes resembled mens, except that the heels were raised and their overall appearance was more feminine. The green bag hanging from one shoulder was of a curious design, its contents spilling across the stones.

With a growl deep in his throat, Erik stepped over her and continued on his way. A low, pain filled moan echoed behind him and he turned back, wondering why he did so, to take a closer look at the odd girl. He knelt beside her and pulled on her shoulder so that she rolled onto her back. She couldn't have been any older than 17, he decided- the age Christine would be now. The girl whimpered slightly and turned her head away as if sensing that she was being watched. Erik stood with a groan, knowing that he couldn't just leave her there. _(Erik: I certainly could! Authoress: Yeah, cause the story so says that you will...)_

But where could he take her? His lair had probably been trashed, maybe beyond repair, but it was better than the hellish little cavern he had been hiding in. Besides, he'd been wanting to return home for a while now. He tucked the girl's belongings back into her bag, hung it over his shoulder and pulled the unconscious teenager up into his arms with a deep grunt. She certainly wasn't as light as Christine! _(Authoress: Just cause she's the spawn of a rake!)_

He headed off through the darkness to the place where he knew his gondola was moored with the oddly dressed girl burrowing her face into his chest. To his immense discomfort, her arms slipped up and encircled his neck, seeking safety. _(Ha! Even unconscious the Phangirl reacts!)_ He reached the waters edge and lay the girl in the front of the gondola, dropping her bag beside her. Erik poled away from the bank, heading for the lair he hadn't seen for almost five months.

The grate was up when he came to his home, allowing him to see the damage wreaked by that damned mob. He tied the ornate gondola up when he reached the other bank and leaped out, surveying the damage as calmly as he could. His organ, furniture, wall hangings were all scorched beyond repair or slightly blackened. The hundreds of sketches he had made of his angel were piles of ashes where they had sat. With a single furious roar to release some of the anger the sight inspired, he returned to the gondola for the girl. He lay her down on one of the only stable pieces of furniture left, a red velvet upholstered divan whose beautiful soft seat had been affected by the fire. She stirred slightly and Erik lay his cloak over her before returning to the gondola for her bag.

He wanted to ask her so many questions, but it would have to wait until she awoke. In the meantime, he would look around the rest of his lair and check on what other damage the mob had done.


	2. In The Lair

2 reviews in one day is pretty good, for the first chapter! (is proud)

Erik: Sam, pride isn't attractive...

Authoress: Definitely why one half of your face is like that...

(glare daggers at each other)

**Chapter Two- In The Lair**

Sam sat up sharply, head spinning, waking to a loud banging. She realised that she was lying under a long, warm cloak. Frowning in confusion, she looked around her, not really taking in the burnt and broken furntiure nearby. Further away, noises echoed from behind a massive decorated pipe organ. A black dressed figure cursed and stood, turning around. Sam gasped in shock and surprise at the sight of a white porcelain face mask.

"You... you're..." Erik stood and watched her patiently but Sam shut her mouth, pale faced.

"You finally wake, mademoiselle, I was beginning to think you never would" (_Erik: Appalling line, that one_)  
"Umm... what? Where am I? How did I get here?" Sam's voice shook slightly, afraid either way this could be- she was dreaming and would soon wake up, or it was as real. Both options were frightening in different ways.

"I was hoping you might be able to tell me that, and more." Erik said

_Well, I'm definitely not dreaming,_ she thought, _he would've kissed me by now_  
(_Erik: Would not have. Authoress: You obviously have no idea what I dream_.)  
"Such as?" she asked

"Who you are would be a wonderful start." Erik said, voice gaining a sarcastic edge.

"Who I am? Very well. I'm a romantic dreamer who wanders aimlessly through life without a clue as to what to do next. But you can call me Sam." Erik's visible eyebrow twitched upwards.

"Well then, mademoiselle Sam... where did you come from?"

"Australia. More precisely, Geelong in Victoria." Erik, whose limited knowledge of Australia did not extend to this place called Geelong, not to mention the fact that the states of the Commonwealth would not be created for another 30 years, stood there in confused silence. "What is this place you call Victoria?" he asked finally.

"Oh dear." Sam said, "this will take some explaining, Erik." She sighed.

"What will take explaining?" Erik asked warily, "and how do you know my name?"

"Victoria is one of the 5 states that will be formed in Australia in, oh, 30 years or so... er.. I was born- will be born- god that's confusing- in 1988." Erik stared at her blankly for a good 30 seconds.

"The truth this time, mademoiselle, I assure you that I do not suffer fools gladly."

"I may be slightly foolish at times, but I'm being serious. The year is what, 1870?"

"1871" Erik corrected.

"Well, it's 2005 in my time." Sam looked around for her bag and, on finding it, pulled out a maroon school diary, blinking back a wave of dizziness. She handed the ragged looking book to the skeptical Erik who surveyed it's graffitied cover. Sure enough, beneath a white proclamation that he was holding a "VCE Student Record Book", 4 numbers proved the girl's story to be true.

"This can't be possible." Erik protested.

"I assure you that unless I'm hallucinating after falling down that manhole, it's 100 percent real." She grinned wolfishly. "Which is awesome!"

With a twitch of his eyebrow, Erik flicked the book open to find a picture of a man wearing a mask similar to his own, with a face that looked similar. The blue eyes of the man stared back into his own golden ones.

"What in God's name?" he gasped, dropping the book.

"Ah, I see you've found Gerry." Sam said, scooping her diary up from the stone floor. " He played you in the movie Myself and several of my friends are severely devoted to him, you..." She trailed off with a faint smile as she closed the book. "But I doubt you could handle the DBCA on top of everything else right now." Erik stared imperiously down at her.

"You underestimate me, mademoiselle."

"Enough with the mademoiselle!" Sam snapped, falling back onto the divan. "I have a name, which you already know."

"Sam is not a girl's name"

"It's short for Samantha but the only people I have ever permitted to use it are family, teachers, and my parents's friends, because they either won't accept that I don't want to be called that, or they don't know any better..." She was cut off by an amused look from Erik. "What?" She demanded.

"Nothing" he smiled vampirically and lowered his voice to a deep whisper. "Samantha." She gulped audibly.

"All right, I guess you could call me that if you really want..." Erik turned away, a tiny smile playing on his lips as he crossed the room to his beloved organ.

"The entire place is screwed and that's the only thing you want to fix?" Sam's voice echoed through the still air.

"If it causes you such terrible pain, I suppose you might be able to do something about it" Erik replied shrewdly. Sam growled deep in her throat like a dog and muttered some choice words. For a moment she just lay under Erik's cloak before sitting up and looking around at the mess.

"Geez, this is worse than my room" she muttered dryly, getting up. At least she'd have something to do.  
+_Two hours later_+  
Sam collapsed on a pile of burnt hangings. "I HATE chores!" She roared, making Erik jump.

"I would very much appreciate it if you would not do that." he said darkly, turning away from his cleaned and almost repaired organ to see that most of his furniture had been righted and arranged neatly, the pieces beyond repair gathered together in a corner, awaiting their fate. Most of the fallen candlesticks had been stood upright and many of the wax pillars they held had been lit to combat the gathering gloom. He nodded approvingly.

"I see you have almost finished." he said.

"I'm not doing a single thing more until I can change out of this HIDEOUS uniform and get something to eat!" She exclaimed dramatically from where she was half concealed by a singed tapestry. She had taken off her shoes and blazer during her cleaning and they sat on the divan she had slept on. With a drawn out, almost musical groan, she rubbed her hand over her eyes and forehead and looked up at Erik.

"I can do nothing about either of your demands- any food still here would be inedible and do you truly think I would own a single female garment?" Sam shrugged.

"I have a change of clothes- there might be some food in my bag, but I'll need more than a couple of musty Saladas to keep me going." Erik groaned deeply and ran a hand down the side of his organ. (_Authoress: Ewww! Erik: Will you grow up! Authoress: Much as I need to, it is practically impossible at the present time._)

"Will you stop complaining if I go to find some food?" Sam nodded vigorously "Very well. Iwill go, but while I'm gone you must continue to clean or I will not feed you. The keys to various rooms are by the organ. Burn any destroyed hangings and try not to pry into my private belongings too much. If you find yourself locked in my torture chamber, I'll most likely leave you there." Erik snatched up his cloak from where Sam had folded it up with reverence and headed for his gondola. She stared after him, wishing that one of her usually handy scathing replies would jump to mind. When none came by the time Erik had gone under the grate, she went back to her cleaning with a few very nasty words aimed at the Phantom.  
(_Erik: Yes, I'm very mean aren't I? Authoress: still muttering Erik: Ready to give up yet? Authoress: NEVER_!)

On his return journey, 100 metres away from the grate leading to his lair, a high, reasonably good but untrained voice carried across the water to his ears.

_There was a boy  
A very strange enchanted boy  
They say he wandered very far, very far,  
Over land and sea  
A little shy and sad of eye  
But very wise was he  
And then one day  
One magic day he passed my way..._

He came through the grate to see the damned girl in a white t-shirt and blue pants of an odd looking material leaning on a candelabra overlooking the lake, staring up into the darkness near the roof with a faraway look in her eyes. She was singing.

_And while we spoke of many things  
Fools and kings  
This he said to me,  
The greatest thing, you'll ever learn_...

"If you don't mind, I would prefer if you didn't sing, thankyuo ma- Samantha." She looked at him, something akin to hurt flickering in her eyes.

"Why?"

"You question my decision in my own home?" Erik asked incredulously, towering over Sam. She flinched backwards slightly, murmuring a hurried apology as she rushed off to straighten a rug she had thrown over one of the chairs to hide the smoke damage on it. Erik was surprised, as he looked around, at how well she had cleaned the lair.

_(Erik: Well, I know what your idea of cleaning is, don't I? That squalid dump you call your room is... Authoress: Now mostly clean. Being grounded does wonders for the appearance of one's bedroom.)_

"I come bearing food." Erik announced, holding out a basket. "Madame Giry was surprised to see me- and wondered why I suddenly needed so much food."

"Did you tell her?"

"And say what exactly? There is a girl from 134 years into the future staying in my home? Somehow I doubt that I could convince her that Ihad not gone mad."

"Maybe you have and... does that mean I can stay?" Sam finished with an excited yelp.

"As long as you obey my rules, I won't send you home." _(Authoress: Couldn't anyway, even if you tried. Erik: How come? Authoress: Do you see any manholes that take people through time appearing at your request? cricket chirps Didn't think so.)_

"And those rules are?" Sam asked.

"Do not sing, do as I say and don't question my decisions." Erik said smugly. Sam scowled.

"As you wish" she said reluctantly. (ah Westley, how I love thee... let me count the ways...)

Erik nodded, satisfied with her answer.

"So what's for lunch?" Sam asked, eyeing the basket longingly. Erik laughed hollowly.

"It is nearly seven at night. It is suppertime." Erik opened the basket and the warm scent of roast chicken floated through the air, making Sam's mouth water.

"I'll set the table!" she cried, dashing off in the direction of the kitchen and dining room. Erik followed slowly, wondering what exactly he'd gotten himself into.  
Erik: Yes, I wonder indeed.

Authoress: But I don't. I know exactly what's coming next... and after that, and after that, and after that, all the way to chapter 10 so far.

Erik: God help me.

Authoress: You'll need him.

Anyway, I shall explain that my Erik (the one in this phic and the one currently residing in my head, is almost a Gerik but with differences. And he sounds different too. I sketched him, but until I can be bothered getting to the scanner, you'll not see him.

Erik: and I shall delay it as long as humanely possible.

I was going to describe him here, but that would detract from moments further into the story!


	3. Of Gerry's Voice and Sleeping Places

**Chapter Three: Of Gerry's Voice and Sleeping Places**

Over a dinner of fresh roast chicken, potato and pumpkin with a bland garden salad and a bottle of Erik's finest red wine, they relaxed slightly in each other's company. Erik flat out refused to answer questions regarding himself, changing the subject every time, but she was the exact opposite, answering his every question and more.

He heard passionately told tales of family, friends, school, places visited and her prized possessions. He, it seemed, figured highly in her list of favourite things.

"But now" Sam finished a ten minute speech, "I won't say a single thing more unless I hear something about you." Erik sighed and Sam waited, sensing a breakthrough.

"I would like to hear more of this Gerard Butler, though" Erik said silkily, "and how he could have 'played' me in a 'movie'"

"If you insist."

"I do."

"Well, in my time (which makes me sound old), you are famous. There have been two books written about you, a Broadway musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber and a film. Gerry was in the film, he did such a great job..." Sam's eyes glazed over as her equal first favourite (with Sean Bean) actor's voice floated into her head, as if on cue.

"Excuse me" she said, rushing to her school bag and pulling out a small silver discman.

"What on earth is that?" Erilk asked as she entered the room, holding it out.

"If you'll allow me, these have to go in your ears..." Sam said apologetically, holding out the earplugs. He watched her warily as she approached and stiffened as she slipped the small black earphones into his ears. A series of high pitched beeps followed as Sam hunted for track number 7- Music of the Night.

"I don't know if he sounds exactly like you- I haven't really heard you sing yet... there are a few points where his notes aren't exactly right but... yeah." Erik jumped as a familiar melody flooded his ears with a male voice over it. Sam's lips quirked into a tiny smile as she cleared the supper dishes away.

_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams  
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before  
Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar...  
And you'll live as you've never lived before..._

Sam heard Erik join in as he listened, voice heartbreakingly perfect, putting the voice he listened to to absolute shame.  
_(Erik: Never knew you thought it was so good. Authoress: Yeah, well, don't go letting your head get any bigger than it already is.)_  
She forgot all but that voice, rushing to the dining room to hear him. Erik's face held an expression of intense pain as he relived memories of things he wanted to forget. Sam rushed forward and stopped the CD, gently removing her earplugs from Erik's ears.

"I-I'm so sorry..." She said, taking the discman from the room.

"You could not have known" he said softly as she disappeared from sight. She didn't hear.

After a few minutes., Erik followed her to find a makeshift bed made up on the divan, with a throw rug as a blanket and a singed cushion as a pillow.

"I know of a better place for you to sleep. Bring your things." he announced, beckoning to her. The emotion of barely five minutes ago had disappeared, replaced by the coldness and impersonality he usually displayed. With a sigh, Sam followed the Phantom to another room. She gasped in surprise and awe at the sight of the Louis Phillipe room. 

"No way. You're joking, right?" she said, disbelieving.

"Why would I be, er, joking?" Erik asked. "I see you didn't get to cleaning this room." He gestured at the piles of dead roses lying everywhere.

"Yeah, I... um... got preoccupied..." Sam replied, blushing furiously.

"Singing again?" Erik asked sardonically.

"Nope."

"What then? It couldn't possibly be too terrible, you were completely alone this afternoon!" Sam hesitated.

"I found your room," she said haltingly, "your coffin is cool. But why do you sleep in one? Is it a vampire fixation like the one I've developed over the past year?" Erik scowled at the overly excited girl, whose hazy expression had returned.

"Ghosts and the dead do not sleep in the beds of the living. I would prefer especially now to maintain the appearance of death." Sam shrugged.

"If that roasts your goose... whatever." Erik's eyebrows raised at the idiotic expression.

"Good night." He said gruffly and turned away. The odd girl was unnerving him.

Sam shook her head vigorously to dispel the images crowding it of a certain other Gerry movie as she moved towards the ornate swan bed. _(Erik: Because this is NOT a Dracula 2000 fic, is it? Sam? Sam? Authoress: No... not... Drac... Erik: Get back to work.)_

She shrugged, successful for once, and surveyed the room, hands on hips. The brittle, dead roses had to go- they were just depressing. Dead depressing. She smiled mirthlessly at the irony, mind plagued by the image of Erik's face as he sang Music of the Night. With a sigh, she picked up her CD player, slipped a bronze CD bearing a sketch of a mountain scene, into it and let a simple melody flood through her as she moved around the room, gathering up dead roses.

_You light me up and then I fall for you  
You lay me down and then I call for you.  
Stumbling on reasons that are far and few  
I'd let it all come down and then some for you..._

She resisted the overriding desire to start singing one of her favourite songs as her pile of dead roses grew.

_Pretty baby, Don't you leave me  
I have been saving smiles for you  
Pretty baby, Don't you hurt me  
You're the one that I belong to  
I'll be the embrace that keeps you warm  
For you're the sun that breaks the storm  
I'll be all right, and I'll sleep sound  
As long as you keep coming round...  
Oh pretty baby..._

Sam finished her task and turned the Cd player off. Much as she wanted to keep listening to Vanessa Carlton, the battery was low and she doubted there was anywhere to recharge them in 1871 Paris. She walked around the room, blowing out candles until there was one left beside her bed.

Sam climbed in between the satiny sheets, kicking off her jeans and throwing them out of the bed before blowing out the last candle with a sharp huff. In the darkness, she slipped further down into the comfortable bed, easily drifting off to sleep.


	4. STOP SINGING

Since this is also posted on another site, where I'm actually all the way up to chapter 17, I thought I'd better catch you guys up on it just a little (plus I'm really really bored- can you tell?) So chapters 4-6 are today's special treats!

**Chapter Four: STOP SINGING!**  
When Sam came out into the main part of the lair, a small clock on the wall read eleven o clock. There was no sign of Erik, so she took her chances and began humming a few bars of the song affectionately called her theme. She sang when she came to the chorus.

_Is it enough to love?  
Is it enough to breathe?  
Somebody rip my heart out and leave me here to bleed  
Is it enough to die?  
Somebody save my life!  
I'd rather be anything but ordinary please_

"I thought I asked you not to sing" Erik said, coming out of the kitchen.

"And I asked you why I couldn't" she replied defensively.

"I would prefer that you didn't. Do I need a stronger reason?"

"Is my voice truly that bad?"

"I never said that you had a bad voice, Samantha, I would just prefer that there be no music around my home. If you really must disobey my wishes, then I will ask you to leave."

"I'll refuse"

"Then I will throw you out."

Sam snorted. "Good luck there, seriously. I'll be haunting you for a long time yet." She flounced off, humming again. Erik longed desperately for his lasso but the girl must have moved it, he couldn't find the catgut rope anywhere.

_(Authoress: Knew you'd try it eventually. Smart, aren't I? Erik: You show flashes of brilliance. I regret this one.)_

He disappeared again, this time heading for his own room. Soon the strains of a second organ could be heard.

"Hypocrite" Sam muttered, heading for the kitchen. _(Erik: I resent that Authoress: I resent your rules!)_ There was a loaf of bread sitting on the bench with a knife beside it. She cut a thick slice off and searched for the butter. There was a little left in a covered dish beside the basket, which she finished off, spreading it over the entire surface. The bread tasted slightly fruity, with a spicy edge. Cinnamon, perhaps? She shrugged and finished off the slice quickly before wandering off to the Louis Phillipe room. The dead roses sat mournfully inthe far corner, near an unlit fireplace. Sam retreated and headed instead for Erik's room. The organ music became much louder as she opened the door.

"I thought you wanted no music" she said conversationally. Erik's long fingers stilled on the keys.

"That rule does not apply to the music I create on the organs. What do you want?" He replied irritably.

_You, in my bed tonight_ Sam thought with a smirk (sorry guys, couldn't resist!) "A fireplace. Theres a huge bunch of roses sitting in my room."

"You don't like roses?"

"No, I like them. Just not when they're dead." Erik frowned, confused.

"Oh. Yes. You can burn them there." he pointed in the general direction of his own fireplace.

"Thanks." Sam dashed to the kitchen for Madame Giry's basket before returning to the Louis Phillipe room to gather the roses up. Their dry, brittle petals poked out over the rim mournfully, as dead as Erik's chances of regaining his Angel's love. (_Erik: Yes, charming analogy. Thankyou_.) With a sigh, Sam carried them to Erik's room and fed them to the fire.

"Just to let you know" she said as she left, "I'm bored and you're already low on food." She shut the door and replaced the basket before hunting for her copy of Pride and Prejudice, still tucked into the bottom of her school bag. Erik found her ten minutes later curled up in an armchair, nose buried deep within chapter 47 of the book.

"Not bored anymore?" he asked, amused.

"Bored as all hell. This is turning out to be far less fun than I'd imagined." She pouted and Erik rolled his eyes.

"Well, I am going to visit Madame Giry again, for more food. I doubt she will be impressed but it is all I can do for now. Is there anything in particular you would like me to bring back?"

_(Authoress: How hospitable of you. Erik: Offer going once, going twice...)_

"Chocolate please, it's been far too long, and maybe some new clothes?" Erik considered her requests.

"I will see what I can do. Do try to behave while I'm gone, would you?" Sam mock bowed to him.

"As you wish" Erik shot her an irritated glare as he stalked off to his gondola. Once he was out of sight, Sam rushed off to find her CD player. A white CD bearing an image of a cassette found it's way into the black interior. Sam carried the CD player and case out into the main area of the lair and looked out over the lake. No returning Phantom.

She dashed back to the other room, where a black CD sitting on the bedside table beckoned. Unable to resist the call of a _Phantom_ soundtrack, she quickly pulled out the Thirsty Merc CD (awesome Aussie band) and replaced it with the second disc of her special edition soundtrack, skipping it forward to her favourite track, _Wandering Child_. She sat down on the unmade bed as Gerry's voice echoed over the violin. Sam joined in with Emmy Rossum's singing the part of Christine. She could reach the notes, though her untrained pitch was slightly off on the higher notes (I can hit nearly all of Christine's notes, just not the super high ones and it depresses me. Damn you Christine!)

As the last verse began, the door burst open and a furious looking Erik glared down at her, the visible side of his face twisted in rage beyond recognition.

"Stop!" He roared, "And NEVER SING THAT SONG AGAIN!" He threw a box at her, which narrowly missed her head. The door slammed shut again, leaving her alone and trembling.

_(Erik: Well, maybe, you should listen to me when I ask you not to do something next time. Authoress: Maybe you shouldn't set rules that you KNOW I can't stick to!)_  
She turned the CD player off with shaking fingers, leaving the room to find Erik, knowing it was probably a very unwise thing to do. He was seated at the large organ, pressing random keys in the low section.

"Erik, I'm sorry..." she hesitated, not really knowing what to say. "I just... singing allows me to release pent up energy and emotion, it's one of the only things that can revive me when my heart is half dead." Erik turned to stare at her warily.

"What would a child like you know of these feelings?" He asked

"More than you'd believe, Erik. Trust me about that. I don't understand your rule, I probably never will, and it's an incredibly stupid one that'll need a brilliant explanation before I truly accept it."

"You still don't understand?" Erik asked quietly, eyes painfully full of sorrow and frustration. Sam dropped her head.

"Your chocolates are in the box I threw earlier. I had planned on raiding Sorelli's wardrobe for you- she is noted for her fashion and you are much the same size. But she was in her dressing room... getting, erm, reaquainted with Phillipe deChagny." He blushed at the picture and Sam smirked despite herself before dashing off in search of her confectionery.

My dear readers, I must confess that your dear authoress is a review junkie- and will only update after she receives reviews. You can all see that little button there, so click it and make an authoress happy! (winks)


	5. Above Ground

**Chapter Five- Above Ground**  
_(Authoress: Erik, isn't that a scary concept? Erik: Oh shut up. Sarcasm should be reserved for those who deserve to use it.)_

Over the next few days, life in the lair was tense. Erik spoke only a few words a day, if at all and Sam didn't push him. He'd found the Punjab lasso under one of the couches. _(Erik: Stupid place to hide it, really. Authoress: Rub it in, why don't you?)_

She became more hyper after so much disuse of her abounding energy and had to suppress it, making her go even crazier. She tried to release some of it out of Erik's earshot, but it was a rare time when she had the chance. Being unable to sing only added to her frustration until she was almost as snarky as Erik. All in all, the atmosphere in Erik's lair was cold and angry.

One day, just over a week after Sam's arrival in the lair, she couldn't take it anymore. When Erik came out of his room at midday, fingers and stomach aching from playing his organ so passionately and lack of food, she was nowhere to be found. Her CD player was sitting on the table, earphones trailing over the edge. He held one to his ear warily and pressed play. Beethoven's _Fer Elise_ filled the headphones. He raised his eyebrows, momentarily surprised that such a girl would listen to cultured, classical music like this. He'd heard some of the tasteless 'modern' music the girl seemed to like so much. He especially hated the Thirsty Merc CD she often pulled out to listen to.

_(Erik: well, it's terrible! And the monstrosity you created for that first song… Authoress: What, My Completeness? Ha, I thought it was clever. And stop bagging the Merc. They're cool. Just think yourself lucky I didn't bring my dad's Meatloaf CD to school that day, then you'd be in for trouble!  
Erik: Oh God in Heaven…  
Authoress: He doesn't care. In that, you can trust.  
Erik: Oh, quote Dracula then.   
Authoress: Actually, much as I'd love to, and end up doing so in RE every lesson, this has gone on quite long enough.)_

Pressing stop, he searched the entire lair, even checking the torture chamber for her. When he came out again, angry and worried, he noticed the gondola was missing. All concern for the girl vanished, replaced by blind rage.

_(Authoress: You know you're still worried Erik: You're seriously delusional)_

He grabbed his cloak and growled deeply, he was going to have to go after her, over the lake. He'd have to swim half the way, but he couldn't leave her out there- who knew what kind of trouble the girl could get herself into, maybe she might even lead another mob down here... He waded through the water, cursing the irresponsible girl as the freezing water reached his chest.

_(Authoress: Er, Erik... aren't there mirror passages out of the lair you could've taken? Erik: Blind rage makes you forget the most logical of things)_

As he kicked off into a slow breaststroke, one coherent thought pulsed along with his heart- the girl would pay dearly.

Dripping water along the passageways, Erik stalked furiously along the stone floors, footsteps echoing as well as the heavy dripping water from his cloak as he squeezed it out. His sodden shoes squelched wetly with each step as he cursed this impulsive girl he had so recklessly brought into his life. What had possesed him to take the chance on her? What kind of a fool was he to do it? He continued to berate himself until he came to the secret entrance to the backstage area of the theatre.

He came out into the corridors of the opera house, flooded with light, and shrank back into what little shadow there was. He looked around, finding the corridor deserted but for two people barely 100 metres away. The immature little twit stood chatting easily with Madame Giry, holding a large grey case and smiling sunnily. He stepped out of the shadows with a sharp cough, making her jump guiltily and turn around to face him.

"Erik, why are you all wet?" she asked, suppressing a giggle at the sight of the waterlogged Phantom.

"Because I just swam across a lake in search of you" he replied, voice a deep, cold growl.

"Oh..." Sam's bright expression flickered to fear.

"Erik, why did you not tell me of your young guest!" Madame Giry asked, voice slightly stern yet there was an edge of friendly kindness there too. "She has explained everything to me, withthe help of this..." she held up the maroon school diary then handed it to Sam. "I suppose I had better go, Meg and I are going to lunch with the managers to discuss our contracts." The ballet mistress smiled at the two people near her. Erik stepped up, a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes pasted on his face. He clapped Sam on the shoulder, a little harder than he needed to, and waved once.

"I'll deal with you later." he hissed to Sam, who gulped audibly. As soon as Madame Giry was out of sight, he dragged Sam forcefully back to the passageways of the labyrinth leading to his home.

"What were you thinking?" He roared as they descended a flight of stairs, "leaving the lair, without permission too!"

"Look, I'm sorry, all right!"

"You took my gondola..."

"Yes, I did!" Sam snapped, wrenching her wrist out of Erik's grasp and rubbing the new red marks on it tenderly, "And if you're rules were slightly less... tyrannical... I might not be so rebellious!"

Erik pulled her forward again, towards the gondola he had seen on his way. When they reached it, he wordlessly threw the lasso savagely over her head, pulling it moderately tight around her throat, tying the other end to a curve on the back of the gondola.

"Erik, what the hell is this?" Sam said, holding up the rope. "I mean, I know it's the lasso, but what the hell are you doing?"

"I had to swim across a lake to fetch you, so you shall do the same on the return journey." Erik shivered slightly in his freezing, wet clothes. The sooner he could get back to the lair, the better.

"What about this? Madame Giry gave me some 1870's clothes so I could fit in better. She seemed to think it was all right if I went above ground." Sam held up the grey case, which had been pounding against her legs as she had been dragged. Erik growled and threw it into the gondola, not quite angry enough to make her swim with it, for it weighed more than he'd expected.

Erik jumped into the gondola himself, picked up the pole and looked back to where Sam stood grumbling about the lasso sitting against her skin. "So unfair..." he heard her mutter and poled away from the bank savagely. The rope jerked tense, pulling Sam forward.

"What am I, a dog?" She growled, jumping into the freezing cold lakewater. It soaked straight through her thin summer uniform. Halfway across the lake, Sam abandoned her slow, clumsy breaststroke for a slightly faster freestyle, the rope was digging into her neck now and she definitely didn't want to die by strangling AND drowning at the same time. When her legs tired, she gave up and grabbed onto the gondola, hoping that Erik wouldn't notice. He didn't. When they reached the lair, he untied the lasso from the gondola and hauled his soaking, shivering houseguest from the water. "Could you get this off me, please?" She choked, trying to loosen the tight noose from her neck. Erik turned his back and stormed off, into his room where he changed into a dry outfit. Sam continued to struggle with the lasso until, finally, she managed to pull it off.

With a furious huff, she pulled the case of clothes from the gondola, and cursing Erik stormed into he Louis Phillipe room. There she stood in front of the fire, peeling off the layers of her school uniform and tucking a towel around her now steaming body.  
_(Erik: You steam? Authoress: Warmth hitting the freezingness? Duh. Erik: I was expecting a different response. Authoress: Oh yeah- I'm Melting, MELTING! AHHHH! Happy? Erik: I should've kept my mouth shut.)_

It was after drying off and changing into her t-shirt and jeans (all of the pieces she'd looked at so far were corseted and she wasn't game to try one just yet), she decided that instead of the violent temper tantrum she envisaged, she would hold a ritual burning, to rid herself of the bad vibes. Her school uniform, sitting before the hearth seemed to beg her to ignore it, as did the Maths and Indonesian textbooks poking their forlorn, bent covers out of her school bag. With sadistic pleasure, she gathered the lot and fed them piece by piece in front of the fire.

_Authoress: Ding Dong, the uniform is dead!  
Erik: And that's exciting because?  
Authoress: You'd think he'd never accompanied me to this hell hole_!


	6. Paint It Black

**Chapter Six- Paint it Black**

_(Authoress: sigh Yet another chapter with a song. Erik: You overdo the music. Authoress: Yes. Yes I do.)_

Three hours of cold, angry silence settled over the lair. They passed slowly, neither person's pride allowing them to be the one to break the silence.  
_  
(Authoress: Plus there's 20 bucks riding on it. Erik reckons I can't resist speaking, I say he'll crack and scream at me.)_

Silently, Sam stalked into the kitchen to begin dinner, only to be shooed out by Erik with a wave of his lasso. He wandered back to where he had a lamb haunch roasting over an open fire, noting that there really wasn't enough food for a week as he'd been telling himself, and he'd have to go out soon. The thought made him shudder, but he couldn't send the girl- she'd have no idea of French money, let alone where the shops were!

_(Authoress: Plus, I stopped French halfway through 7th grade. Erik: How is it possible that we understand each other then? Authoress: I think I'll let it slide- it's just one of those massive plot holes you come up against sometimes)_

He rolled his eyes as a heavy guitar melody began. Evanescence. Again.

_Catch me as I fall  
Say you're here and it's all over now  
Speaking to the atmosphere  
No one's here and I fall into myself  
This truth drives me into madness_

She was going to send him mad soon!

_I know I can stop the pain if I will it all away  
If I will it all away  
Don't turn away  
Don't try to hide  
Don't close your eyes  
Don't turn out the lights…_

The CD skipped and he heard a loud screech. _(Erik: Ha… Authoress: quickly Not a word, doesn't count!)_ The sounds of a new CD being put in the player echoed and he held his breath apprehensively. If it was Thirsty Merc… an odd sound that Sam called an electric sitar filled the air, accompanying a pounding drum. He'd heard this before.

_I see a red door and I want it painted black  
No colours anymore, I want them to turn black  
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes  
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes_

He looked into the room where she sat, one bare foot bobbing along to the music as she scrawled in a notebook. She looked up, saw him and scowled, looking away. With a shake of his head, he went back to their dinner.

_I look inside myself and see my heart is black  
I see red door and it's heading into black  
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts  
It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black…_

The lyrics stuck a chord with Erik, he understood the feelings expressed by the words sung over the heavy, brooding music. Sam stood, stretching her denim-clad legs and padded into the kitchen. "Want something?" she asked.

_(Authoress: Here, take it. I'm broke now. Erik: Thankyou! takes 20 dollar note)_

"No, nothing. Why would I?" Erik replied.

"Well, you came in before, I had to finish my sketch before I got up."

"What were you drawing?"

"Horse."

"Ah." They both trailed off awkwardly, Sam rubbing her still red neck nervously. "I uh, I wanted to apologise for sneaking off before… it's just I was so bored, there's nothing much for me to do, after a while I just have to get up, jump around, roll down the nearest available hill…" She trailed off at the semi- amused look on Erik's face. She sighed.

"I guess I must be the most annoying person you've ever known."

"I can tell you in all seriousness that of all the annoying people I have ever known, you do not figure highly in my list."

She smiled faintly. "So I'm only a little annoying?"

"More than a little, but most of the people wandering around five floors above our heads are far more so." Sam gave a small, sharp laugh.

"Carlotta? Managers? Fop and fopette?" Erik raised his eyebrows and nodded cautiously. There was a relieved silence, all anger had been resolved. Sam skipped off to the other room, where she turned off her CD to Erik's immense relief. He could only handle her music in small doses each day. He turned to look at the roast lamb, finding it almost ready to serve up.

"Supper in ten minutes." He called to the teenager who was rummaging through pages left scattered across the divan. She called out her thanks and went to the Louis Phillipe room, which she was still hesitant to call her own, and sifted through the pile of clothes Madame Giry had given her. She pulled out a simple lilac cotton slip in an Empress Josephine style, with a deep red silk sash at the waist and tried it on. It fitted perfectly, and though she was unhappy with the pale colour, she went back out to the dining room where Erik was filling two glasses with red wine.

_(Authoress: You really like that stuff, don't you? Erik: drains wine glass Yes. You've read Leroux's book, you should know that Authoress: Uh, duh)_

"Dinner is served" Erik said, reminding Sam slightly of a Butler _(Authoress: In two ways! Erik…Butler… Gerry… Erik: Very clever. Shut up.)_ They sat down, the scent of roast lamb and the last of Erik's supply of rosemary and thyme everywhere.


	7. Of Cheesegraters

**Chapter Seven- Of Cheesegraters**

Over the next two days, the furniture in Erik's lair was replaced mysteriously. When asked, Erik muttered something or other about his 'contacts' and changed the subject. The larder in the kitchen was stocked up with a variety of foods. Sam began to think that something was happening while she slept.

On the third night, she went to bed early but didn't sleep, not daring to go in between the warm sheets of the swan bed because she knew she'd be unconscious within minutes. After a few hours of monotony in the darkness, she heard movement and a door opening. She slunk out of the room silently in pursuit of Erik, who was slipping through one of the mirror passages, cloak billowing out behind him.

_(Authoress: See how the trouble of chapter 5 could have been avoided so very easily? Erik: I was furious, and this passage leads to crowds during the day.)_

Sam followed silently, enough space between her and Erik that he wouldn't see her if he turned suddenly. The passageway was dark and damp, cold too, Sam thought, shivering. The passage led to the stables of the Opera house where Sam saw Erik saddle up a black Fresian horse, mount up and gallop off into the night. Frowning, Sam turned back to the lair, retrieved Pride and Prejudice from under one of the new couches and curled up against the arm rest to read. Erik returned two hours later.

"What are you doing up?" He asked abruptly when he saw her, looking up at him calmly.

"Insomnia. Where were you?" Erik held up an overflowing basket.

"Shopping."

"Uh huh."

"Now, off to bed Samantha." Erik said sternly after a few moment's silence.

"Er…why?"

"Because not only is it half past one in the morning, but I want you to wake early."

"Again, why?"

"I have decided to let you come above ground with me tomorrow. When I go above ground to see what has become of my opera house in the past five months, you shall accompany me." Sam's jaw dropped at Erik's smug smile. He was pleased with himself for saying something that would shock her so.

"Really?" she cried, jumping up.

_(Erik: No, I just felt like getting your hopes up so that I could crush them evilly. What the hell do you think?)_

" Yes. Now go to bed. NOW." Sam jumped up and down excitedly on the spot twice before lunging at Erik and hugging him tightly around his thin waist. When she pulled away, running breathlessly to the Louis Phillipe room, he stared after her in total shock. In the Louis Phillipe Room, Sam dived under the covers, a small grin across her lips as she slipped into a blissful state of unconscious.

The next morning, Sam was woken by a sharp knocking.

"Hmmmph" she moaned loudly, burrowing deeper into her blankets.

"Up and dressed" Erik's order broke through the last remnants of a half forgotten dream. She rolled out of the bed, onto the floor and stopped by the pile of clothes, one foot still hooked on the bed frame. She shifted into a k\more comfortable position, kneeling on the dress she'd worn the previous day, a grey slip with a black waist sash. She pulled a faded red day dress from the pile, frowning at the laces on the back. She slipped into it, pulling the laces to a slight degree of tightness and wandered out of the room in search of Erik, holding the neckline of the still-loose dress up.

"Erik?" she called sweetly.

"Yes?" he replied warily.

"Can you help me with something? It's kinda urgent…" Erik turned to her, one hand making sure the mask he had just applied to his face was secure.

"What is it?" He asked impatiently. Sam turned her back to him and looked over her shoulder, smirking at the blush that quickly swept over the Phantom's face. Eventually he nodded and stepped towards her, quickly pulling the laces tighter, pulling her waist into a delicate curve. He tied it off deftly and spun away, cloak swirling.

"Thanks" Sam said gratefully, slipping back into the Louis Phillipe Room for a few hair clips and her cracked school shoes, she'd had enough foresight to know that burning them would be a stupid idea. She slipped them on and pinned her dead straight hair back from her face, not bothering with any styling. She was pathetic at it anyway.

"Breakfast" Erik said coolly as she came towards the kitchen, holding out a small red apple. (_Authoress: That's all? A measly apple smaller than my fist? Erik: Well, I want to make an early start, all right? There's a lot of opera house to show! Authoress :When you put it that way…)_

He ushered her to the gondola, jumping in as soon as she was settled in the prow. The journey across the lake was slow and leisurely, giving Sam more than enough time to finish her breakfast and throw the core she offered to Erik into the water. _(Erik: Litterbug. Authoress: You told me to! Erik: You'd prefer I take your rubbish?) _

Erik led her through the labyrinthine passages of the cellars to one of his many hidden entrances to the main part of the theatre. Only a few people were about so early and the two found it surprisingly easy to slip past them into the maze of beams above the stage. It was there that Erik stopped Sam.

"You must be silent and follow my every move- if anyone sees you…" he trailed off, pausing to let the comment sink in. "I would also prefer if you be more cautious about the amount of noise you make- your skirts are brushing the floors, so I suggest holding them up a little." Sam rushed to comply. " It is especially important here above the stage, for if anyone looks up, you may be seen."

"It'd be easier if I had pants, except my jeans would make too much noise" Sam muttered ruefully, following Erik as he started off again. Over the next three hours, Erik showed her through the top two floors of the theatre, slightly unnerved by the amount of attention the girl paid to the positioning of passageways behind the dormitories and offices. They came back to the area above the stage at noon, Erik sitting Sam down on a narrow platform high above the very centre, a place he remembered well- it was here that he'd hung Joseph Bouquet. He pulled out a cloth wrapped bundle, revealing chocolate biscuits as he flicked the edges of the muslin aside. They chewed contentedly as they watched a rehearsal of one of the Opera house's most performed and acclaimed operas- Faust. Half an hour into the rehearsal, Sam was convinced that the sooner Carlotta choked on her own terrible voice the better. Beside her, Erik winced with every high pitched screech.

_(Erik: Anyone who doesn't is either deaf or has ear drums of steel. Authoress: No arguments here, except there is an interesting mental image of Super Ear Drum, standing on top of a building with his hands on his hips, cape billowing out behind him. Erik: …)_

On the arrival of two people on the stage below during an interval, the atmosphere of the beam changed from tense to cold. For below them, Christine Daae and her fiancée Raoul deChagny chatted with the managers, oblivious to the waves of malice descending on them from above.

"Ooh, where's the cheesegrater when you need it?" Sam hissed, a maniacal gleam in her hard, angry eyes. Through his own fury, Erik managed a confused look in her direction.

"Cheesegrater?" He questioned.

"Very, very long story that I might tell you one day, Suffice to say his head wouldn't look the same after a cheesegrater attack." Sam said simply, staring at the fop like a lioness does her prey. Erik stood, not wanting to be outside his lair any longer.

"Come, Samantha, We must return" (_Ooh, massive Gerry moment there, swoons_…)

"Why?" She asked, looking up mournfully.

"Do not question me." Erik growled stiffly.

"Well may I have fifteen minutes?" she asked and on receiving a reluctant nod at the threat of a temper tantrum in her eyes, dashed off. She met Erik by the gondola twenty minutes later. He had been about to leave without her.

"What took you so long?" Erik snapped as she climbed into the ornate boat with an apologetic smile.

"Had business to attend to." Was the short reply he received. "Plus I filched these" Sam held up a pair of fawn coloured breeches. "They were the only ones I could find, unfortunately, wish I could have some of those Il Muto pants, or Meg's from Don Juan Triumphant." Erik scowled but said nothing as he pushed off, heading home.

_(Erik: So, what were you doing? Authoress: You'll see...)_


	8. The Ballet Mistress's Assistant

**Chapter Eight: The Ballet Mistress's Assistant**  
_(and a surprise for Sammy!)_

Sam woke at eight the next morning, dressed quickly and grabbed a piece of bread, buttering it and spreading it thickly with jam before departing from the lair through one of the mirror passages. When she came out into the bright early morning light, she followed Madame Giry's directions to the Ballet Mistress's rooms.

The previous day, Sam had found the woman and asked if there were any jobs available under her for a seventeen year old girl who had two left feet and couldn't sew properly to save herself. The ballet mistress had quickly supplied her with one- she was to assist with costumes and make up for the ballet rats.

Sam knocked three times at the door and waited for it to open. Madame Antoinette Giry stepped out, dressed in her signature black dress with her hair braided along the sides of her head in a style Sam had often tried to copy.

"You are early," she said in surprise, shutting the dor behind her. Sam shrugged.

"I seem motivated for once" she replied nonchalantly.

"Follow me, Samantha, I will show you what you must do."

Half an hour later, Sam was busy lacing ballerinas into their costumes for Faust. She envied the girls dancing as dark spirits; their costumes were exquisite in a slightly evil way. La Sorelli, who had her own maids to dress her, wore black wings on her costume, which Sam wanted desperately. She had been assigned to look after four of the fifteen girls dancing in Faust, including Meg Giry.

She tightened corsets, powdered noses and brushed hair almost silently as the dancers chatted openly about lovers and handsome rich men. Sam's mind wandered far and wide, from Erik to books and horses and back again.

"What of you?" One of the girls asked, poking her in the shoulder, "do you have a lover? Is there any young man you love?" An image of Erik flashed unbidden to mind and Sam smiled.

"No, I have no lover. Nor a young man who tempts my attention. I am content without either." The ballet rats laughed over this and soon forgot about their attendant, laughing instead over Meg's devoted attention to a young stagehand named Pierre who walked past carrying props at one point.

"On stage girls!" Madame Giry called sharply and the dancers ran forward, ascending onto the stage where they began a complicated routine. Sam stood back in the shadows and watched.

"I see you've found yourself a job" An amused voice said silkily, in her right ear. Sam gasped and spun to come face to face with a white half mask. Erik chuckled at her fright.

"Don't do that!" She hissed angrily.

"Whyever not, I thought it was hilarious." Erik said, backing up one step. His closeness to her was disconcerting. "What are you doing out here?"

"I'm Madame Giry's assistant." Sam said proudly.

"Costumes and make up? That will keep your limited intelligence occupied."

"That was entirely uncalled for. In fact, I think I may just imagine you never said anything."

As you wish, I care not."

"Besides, this job will keep me out of your way, which I'm sure you'll enjoy. And if I accidentally break out in song, you won't have to hear it."

"Indeed." Erik wasn't as sure as Sam seemed to be that he was glad to be rid of her. After nearly a month in her company, he had gotten used to at least half of her quirkiness and, although she often annoyed him greatly, the presence of another person nearby while he was in the lair was oddly comforting to him after so long alone.

"Samantha!" Someone called, wanting an adjustment to their costume. With an apologetic glance in Erik's direction, Sam rushed towards the stage. Erik's eyes followed her. Though he often wanted to throw her in the lake or practise his punjabbing skills on her, ever since she had come, he had known what it was like to live with a companion. And he wasn't entirely sure he disliked it. He knew now about what every other human being he had ever met took for granted- companionship. He sighed, rubbing a hand over the visible part of his forehead, watching Sam laugh loudly at something little Jammes had said. With a swirl of his cloak, Erik turned away, deep in thought.

Sam returned through the mirror as the sky outside the theatre was darkening. Erik was seated at the organ, playing. Not wanting to disturb him, as he was obviously composing, Sam leaned against the wall and watched, standing there for she knew not how long. When he stopped, she went to him, draping her arms over his shoulders. Erik flinched at her touch.

"That was amazing, please keep going." She said.

"How long were you listening?" Erik gently removed her hands from their places around his neck as Sam looked up to the grandfather clock nearby.

"About half an hour?" She shrugged.

"You heard the better part then. Before it was merely average. And it's your turn now." Sam's eyes clouded in confusion.

"But I don't know how to play."

"I never said you were playing, and I wouldn't want you to touch my organ anyway." Sam smirked briefly. "I recall once saying that this was the kingdom where all must pay homage to music. If singing is the way that you pay your homage, then I would like to hear you do so. Now." Sam's mouth dropped open in shock and surprise. Her mind was practically blank.

What on earth do I sing for the Phantom of the Opera? She thought, panicked. It was so much easier when he didn't want me to sing!

"What do you want me to sing?" Sam asked, totally perplexed. Erik found himself enjoying how flustered he had managed to make her.

"Anything but Thirsty Merc, or from your Phantom soundtrack." He replied, feeling slightly strange to be talking about a soundtrack of himself.

"Okay…" Sam said, breathing deeply. She was glad he'd denied her the Phantom songs, in her nervousness, she was bound to screw anything she attempted up. "I think I have an idea…" She breathed again, bringing the cold piano music of the song's opening into her mind to guide her voice.

_How can you see into my eyes like open doors?  
Leading you down into my core  
Where I've become so numb  
Without a soul  
My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold  
Until you find it there and lead it back  
Home._

She paused, closing her eyes and tapping one toe. Erik remembered from the few times she had listened to this song that a man was supposed to sing in this break.

_Wake me up inside  
Wake me up inside  
Call my name and save me from the dark  
Bid my blood to run  
Before I come undone  
Save me from the nothing I've become_

Sam moved past the next verse, willing her voice to increase and grow in it's passion. This was her favourite verse in the entire song and she wanted it to be perfect. Or as perfect as a completely untrained singer could make it.

_Frozen inside without your touch  
Without your love  
Darling only you  
Are the life among the dead…_

Erik cut her off, knowing the man took over again here, pleased with her performance.

"Beautiful." He said simply. "Well done." Sam beamed under the praise. As a reward, he began to sing himself. Sam's eyes closed as she sat down on a divan to listen, lips burning with the memory of the feel of his leather glove against them. Erik's heart breakingly perfect voice spun around her, binding her in the spell that had trapped all others who heard it… the Music of the Night echoed off the stone walls and out over the lake, sung by the only man who could ever truly sing it.

_Authoress: Man, I think there's a hint of fluff in that chapter twitches  
Erik: You wrote it!  
Authoress: Yeah, I know. shrugs I was sick of no songs. It was painful. I'd suffered enough.  
Erik: I may yet impose my ban again.  
Authoress: Bring Me to Life sounds really good done with piano accompaniment… **wink wink nudge nudge**Erik: Absolutely not!_


	9. A Surprise For Erik

**Chapter Nine: A Surprise For Erik**

Despite the fact that there was no rehearsal for Faust three days into Sam's new job, she was gone from the lair for half the day. While she was gone, Erik took the chance to compose the music that had been brewing in his mind. When she returned, wiping a wet cloth over her face and neck, there was a triumphant expression on her face.

"Erik!" She called loudly, "Erik, I have a surprise for you!" He jumped, hitting a few keys that together made a jarring sound and cursed her angrily.

"What is it?" He snapped. She bounced forward, the bustle on her dress complaining with a loud rustling as she did so. Sam pushed a thick creamy envelope into his hand with a self-satisfied grin.

"What on earth?" he muttered, slitting it open to reveal a thick wad of notes. He looked up to the still grinning girl sharply.

"How did you get this?" He demanded, "There has to be more than twenty thousand francs in here!"

"Forty thousand, actually, and it's the first installment of monsieurs Moncharmin and Firmin's repayment on your salary." Sam said proudly. "I knew my job would come in handy… and you'll find that with a little face paint I can be very persuasive, especially when I borrow this." She threw Erik's lasso, coiled neatly, into his lap.

"Do you even know what permission is?" He spluttered.

"Asking for it would've led to many questions that I have no time to answer" Sam answered pertly, wiping the last of the thick red paint from her throat. Erik rolled his eyes impatiently and looked back to the massive sheaf of money in the envelope.

"Making those two fools open their wallets is like drawing blood from a stone." Erik said slowly. "What did you do? Steal it?"

"God, as if! Merely used the awesome power of death threats, extortion and a striptease." Sam replied nonchalantly, rolling her eyes at the irritable expression on the visible half of Erik's face. "I told them that you had left the opera but were considering returning. They could delay your re-appearance in their lives if they repaid you every cent they owed. To that, they laughed, saying that they'd get the police down here to hunt you out." Erik grimaced.

"Thankyou. Samantha, your interference is now so much appreciated."

"Uh-uh-uh…" Sam cautioned, wagging her finger. "Allow me to finish, would you! Sheesh! Opera Ghosts are so impulsive!" She sighed dramatically. "I got myself a bit dressed up then- and I really have to thankyou for showing me those passageways. The expression on Moncharmin's face…" She trailed off laughing slightly, "Priceless."

"Explain." Erik's voice was hard and dangerous, Sam jumped and obeyed quickly.

"I painted my face and neck up to look like I was a ghost who'd been murdered and dressed up in this hideous costume I found in one of the costume rooms two days ago, went behind the mirror in their office and waited. When Moncharmin started preening infront of the mirror, I copied his every move until he saw me through the glass. I spoke in an accent, so they wouldn't recognize my voice." She took a deep breath and began again.

"I said; Unlike him, I cannot be found. So unless you want Death's Henchwoman wreaking the definition of Hell on this god forsaken building, pay the Opera Ghost and leave him be. I can assure you that if you do not obey my commands, you will wish you'd never been born. What I will cause will be beyond mere disaster." Erik shivered slightly.

"Where did my lasso come into this?" He asked faintly.

"Oh, I wore that around my neck. But I'm not finished, stop interrupting! By that stage, Moncharmin was ready to faint and Firmin was agreeing to anything- the skull from Robert le Diable I'd planted on a shelf earlier rolled off to land at his feet- I tell ya, that effect was better than anything I could've planned out properly. So I told them to start giving Madame Giry envelopes for you today, as they should have done from the beginning. The results… well, you can see them for yourself. An hour later, Madame Giry came running to me with this, but I suspect the facepaint may have scared her a little." Erik stared at his young houseguest in surprise and newfound respect.

"You are without a doubt the most insane young lady this world has ever seen!" He said weakly, "I cannot believe you could pull this off!"

"Believe it," Sam said smugly, "and thankyou for the compliment, but where I come from, I have friends who are far more insane."

_Authoress: And you never even said thankyou shakes head  
Erik: I'll repay you in other ways.  
Authoress: Really?_  
_Erik: Oh, get your mind out of the gutter before it falls down a drain._


	10. A Map

**Chapter Ten: The Map**

"Erik, 'its' here today." Sam groaned.

"It?" he questioned, landing the gondola.

"The fop! R-R-Raoul!" she spat distastefully and Erik chuckled as he handed the girl out onto the bank.

"Well, don't do anything that I wouldn't." he cautioned, mock bowing as he stood back in the gondola.

"You mean you're not going to make sure I don't kill him? No fair!" She pouted, crossing her arms. Erik frowned deeply.

"Why do you want me there? Just think about it for a moment Samantha, if he is here, then she will be at his side." A brief flash of pain crossed Erik's face, quickly replaced by his usual cold expression as he turned the gondola and poled away. Sam sighed and went off to work.

In two days, Faust would be performed for the first time in a three month season, so tensions were high. As patron of the theatre, the fop had come to watch, fopette at his side as usual. Sam spotted them as they were arriving as she tightened a costume backstage. The ballet rats were already gossiping wildly about the visitors.

"I hear she is living with him already!" One said, receiving many nods of agreement.

"A friend of mine said that they have already shared a bed!" Another giggled. Sam snorted at the scandalised gasps of the ballet rats, hoping desperately she could hide the strong shudders trying to posess her frame.

"That's not true!" Meg snapped, "Christine and Raoul sleep at opposite ends and on different floors of the mansion!"

"Well, it's not like she hasn't been caught up in scandal before" Jammes murmured quietly as they all wandered to the theatre.

"They're here already, did you see the lace on his coat?" Someone hissed as they came out onto the stage. Everyone looked out to where Christine and Raoul were standing by Moncharmin and Firmin, who looked slightly harassed. Madame Giry was holding a cream coloured envelope, standing beside Christine.

"The amount of pink he's wearing is criminal" Jammes said decisively. They were hushed into silence by an unamused monsieur Reyer and the Faust score began. Sam slunk off, looking for something sharp, pointy and shiny.  
_(Authoress: Any pins nearby? They'd be great for throwing at Raoul- aka the human pincushion stabs fop voodoo doll)_

"Excuse me, mademoiselle, are you lost?" Someone asked, above Sam on a flight of stairs. Sam looked up to see Christine looking down at her. She hissed softly between her teeth.

"No, why would you ask that?" Sam asked in reply, voice hard and cold.

"I'm sorry, it's just that I've never seen you before."

"I'm new. I work for Madame Giry."

"Oh." Christine paused for a moment. "I'm Christine Daae. I used to live here."

"I know. The Opera Ghost loved you- and still does- beyond all reason."

(Erik: splutters beyond REASON! Authoress: Shh… you're going to hurt yourself.)

Christine's eyes widened and her hand flew to her throat. "How do you…" She gasped. Sam smiled coldly.

"Erik sends his regards" she said coldly, turning on her heel and striding back into the shadows of the stage. The rest of the rehearsal passed without major incident, not counting, of course, the scene created by Raoul deChagny when he chipped a fingernail during the break, while Madame Giry was handing her young assistant Erik's money.

Afterwards, Sam followed the ballet rats back to the dormitories to help her charges change back into their day clothes, handing out many a handkerchief to mop up the tears over tortured, cramped dancer's feet as they slipped out of point shoes and into soft slippers and boots of all descriptions. When Sam left them, an hour later, she was held up in the doorway by Raoul and Christine.

"Did you threaten my Chistine?" Raoul asked, trying for all the world to sound threatening, but coming across as frightened.

"I was under the impression that she owned herself, you overgrown peacock." Sam replied smartly, putting her hands on her hips defensively.

"She mentioned him" Christine whimpered and Raoul's eyes bugged out almost as big as his fiancées.

"Who are you?" he demanded and Sam's lips curved into a sly smile.

"Watch your back, Mr. and Mrs. Fop. The shadows by your bedroom windows are more than just cats and trees." She sauntered off with a cheerful, tuneless whistle, quickly disappearing amongst a throng of stagehands.

One hundred metres or so down the hallway, Sam's attention was caught by a fold of paper sitting on the floorboards. She picked it up and found herself looking at a map of Paris, a few streets and buildings labelled in red ink. 'My house' one read in childish letters, 'the singing place' said another. Sam raised an eyebrow skeptically and continued on her way back to Erik's lair, going through the stables and patting a few velvety noses as she passed. An idea came to her as she stepped through the entrance to the damp passageway.

"The fop!" she exclaimed, and dashed into the darkness.


	11. The DBCA

**Chapter Eleven: The DBCA**

THE CAMEO CAST  
Adi, Auraella, Debz (daughterofdarkness87), Sol (NeoQueenSolarisCosmos), Eriksmistress, Reltistic, Cap'n Meg, Moonbeam (Lady Assasin Moonbeam), Jennifer (angel of mystery), E.B.C, Noni (naomipoe), Delta, and Clare (KissofDarkness)

This cameo was written when this was solely a DBCA phic. If you're at all curious about what the hell I'm on about, head on over to Silvermasque's profile page and follow the link to her homepage...

* * *

Sam came back to the lair to a rather unusual sight. She halted just within the mirror to see thirteen young women crowding around and angry yet slightly bewildered looking Erik. He held the more reckless of them at bay with the shining tip of his skull hilted rapier. Sam rushed through the mirror, eager to find out what exactly was going on. Erik spotted her instantly and swiped at a particularly rowdy girl who wore an impressive set of nunchucks and a stungun on her hip.

"E.B.C, I may have borrowed your Erik in the past, but step away from mine!" Sam growled. The crowd's attention swayed slightly from the Phantom to the newcomer who they all recognised as one of their own.

_(Erik: Out of curiosity, when and why did you 'borrow' E.B.C's Erik? Authoress: shrugs When the cat's away, the mouse will play with other people's cats. Erik blinks That makes no sense whatsoever. Authoress: Does to me.)_

"Samantha, would you care to explain how it is that I return from the lavatory to a mob of women trying to pull my clothes from my body?" Erik asked silkily. Sam shrugged and turned to a blonde girl who wore black trousers, flared slightly from the knees and a blood red top whose sleeves flowed down in gauzy waves. The silver embroidery on the collar glowed faintly in the dim candlelight, as did the silver circlet resting on her dead straight pale hair, as well as the thick silver necklet at her throat with it's lone deep violet amethyst.

"Adi? Do you have any ideas?" The Queen of the DBCA frowned thoughtfully.

"Well, I kinda hoped you could tell us- there was a call to arms at the DBCa headquarters, so we came…"

"And who are you?" Erik cut in, voice low and threatening. A collective shiver of delight went through the crowd of DBCAians, who were suddenly reminded of Red Death, even though Erik stood before them in a loose white shirt, a waistcoat and black pants. A few, including Sam and Adi unconsciously moved towards their idol, who flinched and reached instinctively for his lasso, which sat comfortingly on his hip.

"Samantha? Care to explain?" he asked again, menacingly.

"Uh… sure…" Sam shook her head to clear it of the temporary haze that had taken it over. "Erik, these are a few of the members of the DBCA- Dramatic Black Cloak Addicts. I guess introductions are in order…"

"Your obsessive friends?" Erik asked, surveying the small group who gazed back longingly. He was surprised by how calmly he was handling the situation, even though his sword was still raised in warning. The way they had advanced on him before Samantha's arrival… he shuddered inwardly at the thought of what might have been had his sword not been nearby. Samantha had hesitantly yet graphically explained the idea of 'glomping' to him only a few days ago. These girls seemed likely to do as much to him without batting an eyelid. Behind the cold, imperious bearing he maintained, Erik was very wary of the mysterious girls who had attracted passing mention in conversation but who he had never actually believed in.

_(Erik: Out of interest, why did they have to show up in my lair? Authoress: More fun that way.)_

"Ahem? Erik? Introductions?" Erik nodded once and Sam grinned proudly.

"This is Adi, also known as Silvermasque, Queen of the DBCA" Sam began, gesturing to her friend. Adi curtseyed, flashing a flirtatious smile which made Erik shiver despite himself. "A pleasure, mam'selle." He purred, taking her hand and pressing cold lips to her fingers, sword still in the guard position.

_(Erik: Since when have I been so affected by Adi's presence? Authoress: Since I still owe her a favour after her cameo chapter. Erik: And you're using ME to repay your debt? Authoress: Yessum indeedy.)_

Next was a girl wearing ninja like garb and a mask covering all but her eyes. "This is Auraella, though you can call her Misty if you wish".

"Thankyou for your permission, it will aid me greatly." Erik said, laying his sword aside and bowing.

"Hush up you, this is Moonbeam." Sam said with a smile, coming to an Asian teenager who wore a black cloak, boots and gloves. "Jennifer, how are you?" Sam asked, the next girl, who wore a tight black blouse with a rose on it, a long sleeved leather jacket, tight fitting leather pants and mid calf length boots, all topped with a cloak trimmed in blood red. Jennifer shrugged.

"I'm great now," She said, eyeing off Erik. Next was a girl in a knee length, jagged edged brown skirt and halter top, both brown, with a silver breastplate, vambraces and shinguards. A small triangular pendant on a choker necklace encircled her throat.

"This is Debz, that's Eriksmistress-" at this name, Erik's face reddened in embarrassment.

_(Authoress: Ah, so THAT'S where you got to last night… Erik: I have no mistress looks around wildly Authoress: Ah, we all know you do.)_

"- here's Clare, E.B.C," Sam paused and whistled the one note she could actually hit. "Cap'n Meg! I love that hat!" The commodore of the DBCa grinned.

"Thanks" she said, running two fingers proudly along the brim of her black leather hat which was identical to the one worn by Captain Jack Sparrow. Sam looked to the next person and found herself in the midst of a tight hug.

"Sol! Wow! Hi!" Sam exclaimed, returning the hug briefly.

"Is this a family reunion or an introduction?" Erik snapped impatiently, keen to see this over and done with.

"Erik, this is Reltistic" Sam announced, quickly moving to the next person, "And here is Delta." Sam said, skipping over to a girl in a silver edged green tunic top and black pants, simple yet deceptively elegant. Erik glanced over these two, looking to the last person who he noted with relief, seemed to be more mature than her companions.

"Last but most certainly not least is Noni, our champion cookie baker." Noni curtseyed slightly, flicking her soft red wool cloak with its black lining expertly. Erik bowed elegantly in reply.

"So, Sam, any ideas on why we're here?" Debz asked, adjusting her necklace. "I mean, if there's no real reason, I don't really mind…"

"I think maybe it has something to do with this" Sam said, brandishing the map.

"A map to the fop's house?" Eriksmistress asked eagerly and Sam nodded.

"I know where this is going!" Sol exclaimed, readjusting something on her back beneath her silver cape.

"Where is it going?" Erik asked warily, thinking that the idea of relinquishing his grip on the sword may not have been his wisest.

"Erik, don't wait up." Sam said descicively, voice tinged with excitement as she turned back to Adi.

"Ladies!" The Queen of theDBCA announced, "we go to torture the fop!" With a swirling of cloaks and an unearthly "SQUEE!" the DBCA left Erik's lair.


	12. The Attack Part 1

**Chapter Twelve: The Attack Part One**

Christine looked up from a bridal magazine, a frown on her face. There were loud sounds coming from outside, like a large crowd had congregated nearby. She got up, wondering who on earth could be making so much noise and went to the window peering out. There was a troupe of fourteen people in strange clothing, many wearing cloaks, approaching. She ran out of the drawing room where she had been sitting, expensive silk and chiffon dress rustling loudly. There was a knock at the door and Ema, one of the maids, went to answer it.

"No, Emma, don't-" Christine protested, a little too late. _(Authoress: Mental image of PotC as I write that- except no one's getting shot.)_ The door swung open and a girl in an ankle length black skirt, split down one side from the thigh, black corset with red lacing and fringe and a black hooded cape with a rose and skull pin on it burst in. There were silver skull earrings in her lobes, glinting in the late afternoon sunlight, and a black choker at her throat with a rose pendant. Silver bands bearing skull and rose charms encircled both arms and a red leather belt holding a scabbarded sword sat comfortably around her waist. Eriksmistress spotted Christine and her jaw dropped.

"It's the bug eyed fish!" she exclaimed, pulling a dagger from a black band concealed around her thigh. Christine squealed loudly and bolted up the stairs. Another door opened and a man with a thick handlebar moustache came through.

"Christine, I don't mind if you practise your scales but-" he cut himself off as he realised he was scolding a group of women who were eyeing him off maliciously.

"Who are you?" he asked warily. The women began whispering furiously amongst themselves and two broke off from the group as the others moved off in another direction. One wore a black singlet and pants, a pair of sturdy black combat boots and a silver cape with her hair back in a loose bun, the other in swirled violet and silver body armour, fitted to her curves, a long sleeved indigo top whose sleeves were sheer from the elbows and tapered to points attached to her index fingers- the right of which was hidden by a fingerless leather glove from which clawlike blades sprouted over her knuckles- a loose knee length skirt in indigo and purple and black boots that extended to halfway up her calves which had cross-over straps extending up above the hem of her skirt.

Sol drew her dragon motif katana as they approached and Sam raised her gloved hand high. Sol flicked the blade deftly, shearing off chunks of the man's hair and slitting the shoulder pads of his fancy jacket. He jumped back, bristling angrily.

"Don't you know who I am?" He asked haughtily, touching his head gently.

"You're Phillipe deChagny, so what?" Sam said, pouncing and pinning the aristocrat against a wall and holding his head back with her left hand. With the blade above her little finger, she deftly shaved the thick moustache from his face. A thin trickle of blood ran down over his top lip. On seeing it, Sam turned to her friend and shrugged.

"I never was much good at shaving." She said with a wry smile.

"Oi! You two! We found the fop!" Delta called from the top of her stairs, dashing off quickly. Sam and Sol looked to each other, laughed and ran for the stairs.

Auraella's purple lightsabre flashed into life, matching the purple of her long sleeved top and pants, and casting a bright glow across the black breastplate she wore. Raoul cowered against the wall opposite her, eyes wide. Reltistic stepped up beside the masked girl, flicking her lightsabre into life with a smirk. The two leapt forward in unison, lightsabres raised, shearing sections of his perfectly groomed hair on either side of his head, leaving symmetrical sections missing._ (Authoress: Imagining how cool that would look now)_ He squealed and ran, chased by Adi, who quickly pinned him face down on the floor and drew her cheese grater from the belt at her waist, raising it high.

"The cheesegrater!" someone gasped in awe as Adi expertly rubbed the silver instrument in a blaze of shiny flashes across his head and shoulders furiously, backing away as strips of fabric and skin flopped to the ground, clumps of hair resting over them. Looking incredibly pale to those who could see his face, Raoul lashed out, dislodging Adi from where she knelt on his back, getting up and dashing through a nearby door.

"Get him!" E.B.C screeched, leading the charge for the door.

Elsewhere in the house, Sam and Sol had taken a wrong turn in their journey to find the others. They were staring in horror at a hallway of six foot or taller family portraits.

"Too… much… foppiness…" Sam gasped, leaning on her friend's shoulder for support.

"I know… what can we do? The foppishness is just… too… strong…" Sol moaned.

"What are you guys doi-" Jennifer cut herself off, joining the others.

"What the hell?" Clare exclaimed, stopping just behind the others and staring up at the foppish faces that glared back. All four of them stood that way for a moment before Jennifer stepped forward, unstrapping her bow from back and pulling an arrow from the quiver. She aimed and fired, hitting a painting of the fop in the eye.

"FOPSEYE!" She shouted gleefully. It seemed to break the others out of their horrified trance, as they all jumped forward, brandishing their weapons, Clare her dagger, Sol her katana and Sam her glove. They set to work, stabbing, hacking and slashing at the terrible paintings, leaving large, jagged holes in the canvases and, in Sam's case, making deep gouges in the wall with the blades on her glove. When they came to the end of the hallway, Sol drew a silver staff out from beneath her cape.

"Wow. Wasn't expecting that." Sam said, looking impressed. Sol grinned and waved the staff. Nothing happened. After a few tries, Sol threw it down.

"Damn staff. Last time I buy from that idiot." She scowled.

"Let's just go. I want to torture a living fop." Jennifer said, pushing some of her curly, shoulder length hair back from her face.

Two floors below, Cap'n Meg and Noni entered the kitchen of the mansion. The cooks looked up from their work in shock, obviously not used to being interrupted by people in cloaks.

"Excuse me, mesdames, but you shouldn't be in here" the head chef, a monsieur Pierre Caloché brandished his meat cleaver as her shouted. Cap'n Meg drew her sword slowly.

"Hand over all of your rum." Some of the cooks pulled out knives to fight back if it came to that. Meg rolled her eyes, and tucked a wisp of chestnut coloured hair back into the red bandana she wore beneath her hat to keep it out of her face and sheathed the sword, pulling an old-fashioned pistol out of it's holster on the wide leather belt around her hips.

The cooks froze for a moment before rushing around to find whatever rum they could. Meg smirked slightly as five full bottles were placed on a bench with a glass.

"And not, all of you- OUT!" Noni commanded, smiling in a very satisfied way as the cooks filed out quickly. She rushed forward and hunted out cookie ingredients as Cap'n Meg settled on a stool and opened up the first bottle. Pleasure before business had been their descisions.

Eriksmistress and E.B.C stalked down a hallway, E.B.C whipping statuettes and ornaments off pedestalsd with her nunchucks.

"E.B.C, stop, if he hears us coming, he'll hide again- wherever the stupid fop went." Eriksmistress hissed.

"Oh. Right." E.B.C tucked the nunchucks back into her belt and kept walking.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"FOP!" Came a loud shout and Raoul burst around a corner ahead of them, closely pursued by Moonbeam and Debz. Moonbeam threw a blade attached to a wire out that left the top of Raoul's head devoid of hair.

"Darn, missed." She shouted, gathering the weapon up.

"What were you aiming for?" Debz asked, striking out at him with her Amazon staff.

"His neck."

"Ah."

A door opened, catching Raoul in the shoulder. Adi and Delta burst through.

"What the hell?" Delta said as the door bounced back and hit her. She looked to where the fop sat, dazed on the floor.

"Ah."

"Have we met?" Raoul asked dazedly, looking around at the girls.

"Only in your deepest nightmares" Moonbeam said, swinging her wire.

"Don't kill him, Moonbeam, wherever the others are I'm sure they'll want a go at him- alive." Moonbeam shrugged and swung the blade high, deftly bringing it down to tear at his coat and rid his hair of more hair.

"You ripped my jacket!" Raoul gasped.

"Yeah, but I wanted to do worse."

"We all do." Debz added.

Raoul shuddered and whimpered, moving to stand up and getting to his knees before realising that there were three swords levelled at his throat, held by Delta, Debz and Eriksmistress.

"Uh-uh-uh…" Adi cautioned, wagging her finger. "Girls, that coat is really starting to annoy me. Swords, daggers or both, do you think?"

"Both!" They all chorused, Eriksmistress handing her dagger to E.B.C.

"Well then ,do what you do best." Adi commanded and with a flurry of blades, they reduced Raoul's lacy frock coat to a pile of ribbons. Raoul squealed and crossed his arms over his suddenly bare body.

"Hey, shut up, fop!" someone called from down the hallway. Reltistic appeared, holding up a bottle. "Whatcha got there?" E.B.C asked.

"Peroxide. But you haven't left me much to work with." She shrugged, wrenching the bottle open and upending the strong smelling liquid over the fop's head, rubbing it into what little hair was left. "Can't wait to se how it comes up" she said gleefully, throwing the empty bottle over her shoulder.


	13. The Attack Part 2

**Chapter Thirteen: The Attack Part Two**  
_a scene with many interruptions by the Authoress and Erik_

"Hey, where's everyone else?" Delta asked, looking around at the small group surrounding the fop.

"Hmm… I saw Jennifer, Sam, Clare and Sol ripping the third floor corridor to shreds" Reltistic said, "Sam had her claws into the curtains, Jennifer was using an arrow to smash vases and things like that, Clare was terrorising all the servants who tried to stop them all with her dagger and Sol was imprinting DBCA in the walls. Cap'n Meg and Noni were in the kitchen last time I looked, and there's a heavenly smell coming from there. But I have no idea where Auraella is…"

On the second floor, Auraella had found the fop's bedroom. Tired of shredding walls and breaking statues, Jennifer and Clare had gone exploring after their interlude on the third floor and were currently helping their purple dressed friend to rip a pink waistcoat apart. A large pile of shredded material was gathering at their feet in mostly pastel colours or shades of pink. Jennifer reached into the wardrobe again, pulling out a loose, ruffled white shirt and holding it up.

"Recognise this?" she asked the others.

"Graveyard scene." Clare noted.

"A pathetic attempt at the Don Juan shirt." Auraella added, flicking her lightsabre into life. "This must be done." She swung the purple blade at the mass of white fabric, watching scraps of it fall to the ground, accompanied by ash. 

_(Authoress: Sorry, it's my personal opinion that Raoul's shirt that he wore in the graveyard scene is a pathetic attempt at Erik's sexy Don Juan shirt. As such, IT MUST DIE! Erik: Do you feel better now? Authoress: nods)_

"Much better." Clare said, nodding as she turned to Raoul's bed and shredded the pillows and sheets with her dagger, chocking as the cloying scent of perfume soaked into them floated to her nose. _(Erik: I do not want to know why you wrote that. Authoress: I don't even know why I wrote that! I'm supposed to be doing my Indonesian homework!)_

"Also much better" she said as the smell subsided. Behind her, Clare heard the rasp of metal on metal and turned slowly to see Phillipe deChagny holding his sword above his head, ready to strike.

"Duck." Auraella hissed. Clare did so, knocking the unbalanced Comte into a wall, where Phillipe was pinned by the ninja stars thrown by Auraella and the two arrows fired in quick succession by Jennifer.

Suddenly a loud call of "RUN AWAY!" echoed through the house and the three girls looked to each other.

"What about him?" Jennifer asked. Auraella shrugged.

"Leave him." They ran off in search of the source of the voice.

Erik dropped the quill he had just reloaded onto an almost finished composition which he had spent almost a week on. Don't wait up, she had said before running off with her friends to Raoul's house… where Christine was living… he leapt up from his seat and ran for where César was stabled, whipping his cloak off its hook on the way.

_(Erik: If you harm a single hair on her head… Authoress; save it for someone who cares.)_

Adi and Delta stood in the foyer of the mansion, waiting for the others to arrive. E.B.C and Eriksmistress were first, dragging the fop between them by one arm each. He was covered in scratches and darkening bruises, his head lolling to one side in unconsciousness.

"Looks like you guys had some fun…" Delta said, eyeing his injuries approvingly.

"Well… just a little…" E.B.C said with a grin.

"We strung him up to a chandelier and used him as a piñata." Eriksmistress added happily, "Reltistic, Moonbeam, Sol and Debz were there too… but we didn't get any candy…"

"I used my fingernails" E.B.C offered proudly, displaying ten sharp nails.

"Well done, girls" Adi approved, "but you could've invited us, y'know. We had to settle for crashing the chandelier in the ballroom." She sighed. "Erik would be so proud."

"So what do you want us to do with him?" Eriksmistress said, tugging on the arm she was holding loosely.

"Just dump him on the floor." Delta said, waving a hand. Eriksmistress and E.B.C looked to each other, shrugged and threw Raoul down the last five stairs, so that he tumbled into a pathetic heap.

Next to arrive were Jennifer, Auraella and Clare, tearing up the last item of clothing from Raoul's closet between them as they came. Following them closely were Sol, Moonbeam and Debz. One by one they spotted the fop lying against the bottom stair, shrugged and walked over his half bared and injured body, smirking at the moans of pain that escaped him.

Noni and Cap'n Meg came next, through a nearby door on the ground level, Noni's long, loose bohemian skirt flowing gracefully out behind her under the red wool cloak (next chapter, or the one after will see a proper costume description, promise!). She carried a tray of steaming, freshly baked cookies, while Meg staggered beside her, the last bottle of rum tightly grasped in her right hand.

"Oh, not again, Meg!" Adi groaned, holding out her hand for the bottle.

"I couldn't stop her," Noni said simply, slapping Sol's hand away from her tray of biscuits with a loud "NO!"

"Meg, give me the bottle." Adi said calmly.

"Please don't take me rum" Meg replied, evading Adi and beginning a drunken round of 'A Pirate's Life for Me.' Adi sighed and snatched the bottle from her hand, downing what was left of it and returning the empty bottle.

"Why's all the rum gone?" Cap'n Meg asked.

"Sit down, dear, before you hurt yourself. Here, I'll give you a cookie." Noni said, as if talking to one of her Smurflings (who I wanted to include, but this is just going to get too violent for their innocent little eyes to witness.) Meg obeyed, munching contentedly on her cookie.

"Hey, where's Sam?" Sol asked suddenly.

"Yeah, where is she? You called Adi, so she should have come" Debz added. Somewhere above their heads, a loud BOOM rocked the foundations of the house and knocked many of the DBCAians off their feet, and most of Noni's cookies on the floor.

"What the hell was that?" Moonbeam exclaimed. A smoky cloud of ash came out of one of the hallways on the second floor, followed by a large pack of servants who screamed "FIRE! GET OUT! GET OUT!"

"Uh-oh…" Sol said slowly.

"That sounds ominous," Noni said warily, "what happened?"

"I, er, I think my staff may have worked after all… we should get out of here, and quickly."

"What about Sam?" Adi asked sternly.

"If she isn't down here now… we left her on the third floor, which is where my staff was…" Sol trailed off with a tear in her eye. Adi's jaw dropped and they all stood silently for a moment, too shocked to move or speak until Adi regained her composure and ushered her charges out of the house. A few minutes after they had gone, Raoul awoke and followed them. Feeling decidedly vicious, Adi caught him, strung him up to a tree with a piece of rope and they all proceeded to beat their fury and grief out on the piñata.  
_  
(Authoress: Wait, I'm dead?... Erik: does celebration dance Authoress: But I don't feel dead… looks around Ah… that's it…)_

Under a burning roof, Christine and Sam stared at each other in total hatred, panting heavily. Christine's eye bore a fist shaped bruise and some of her hair was singed where Sam had beat it with a firebrand, the soprano's nails had left four parallel scratches under the DBCAian's eye, which was steadily swelling.

Quickly, Christine picked up a small bust of Raoul's father and threw it at Sam, who ducked and lunged, hacking a section of Christine's curly hair from her head. She squealed in dismay and slapped Sam, who slashed out with her claws, leaving four deep gashes on the soprano's arm.

_(Authoress: Just have to say, I've tried to link this with the graveyard scene, with the rivals for the affections of another in battle- Erik left a massive gash on Raoul, now I've done the same to Christine, isn't that clever, Erik? Erik: fumes silently Authoress: Meep!)_

A section of the roof caved in, landing on Sam, who struggled under the pile of smouldering wood and plaster _(Authoress: How come it's not on fire? shrugs I wanna live!)_. Christine pulled a splinter of wood from the wall and advanced on the pinned girl… she found herself enveloped in the cool white satin of a black cloak's lining, thin, strong arms around her waist.

"Don't struggle, my Angel" a familiar voice said and she screamed. Erik bundled Christine up in his arms and lined the closest window up in his sights. They were on the second floor, so it wasn't that far to fall, the staircase behind them was currently being swallowed by flame and there was no other way out.

"ERIK!" Came a strangled cry. He turned to see Sam pinned beneath a beam, still struggling to lift herself up. "Erik, help!" He dodged a flaming chunk of plaster and pulled the girl out from beneath the beam, pulling her close against him with his left arm, still cradling Christine to him with the right.

"Hold on tight" he advised, running to and throwing himself through the window. All three of them hit the ground with a thud, rolling in different directions and the world went black.

_(Authoress: Poor Erik… poor, poor Erik. Erik: Why are you saying that? Authoress: Poor Erik…)_


	14. In The Home of the Persian

**Chapter Fourteen: In The Home of The Persian.**

Everything was black.

She could hear hushed, concerned voices. Sam's eyes opened to lantern light and a heck of a sore neck.

"Sam! Sam! You're awake!" Sam winced and tried to sit up, wondering why the ground was jolting. "No, no, lie down, don't even think about moving." Delta's concerned face hovered above hers. "Adi, Noni, she's awake."

"Good." Another face joined Delta as Adi leaned over to look. They were in an open carriage, Sam realised, driven by a dark skinned man in green robes and an astrakhan cap. Behind them was a closed carriage.

"What happened? We found you half hidden in a rosebush!" Noni appeared beside Adi, looking worried. Sam frowned and sat up sharply, hurting her neck.

"Erik! Where is he!" she gasped.

"He rode up on César about half an hour before we found you, jumped off and ran into the house calling for Christine." Delta said, "we didn't see him after that, gendarmes appeared and swarmed all over the place, so we had to hide. César is tied to the back of the other carriage." 

"Lie her down, the girl is going to faint" the dark skinned man added in a soft, richly accented voice and three pairs of hands helped to gently lower Sam to the leather seat.

"The Persian?" Sam asked with a confused frown.

"That's him." Adi said, "he showed up out of nowhere with Darius, he's driving the carriage behind." The Persian pulled the horses up with a word and leapt out. He handed them all down and Adi and Delta helped a bruised and battered Sam to walk into the house. Behind, Darius quickly ushered the other DBCAians over to join them, remaining outside to tend to the horses while the Persian led them to his small library.

"Now, one of you, please explain to me how fourteen oddly dressed young women could possibly end up in the deChagny mansion, terrorising those within." The Persian demanded calmly. Everyone looked to Adi expectantly- she was the Queen, after all and therefore the spokeswoman.

"We were sort of summoned here by Sam, when she found a map to the fop's house… seeing as we all hate him, there really was no other place we would have gone, except to stay in the lair…"

"I see." The Persian cut in, obviously not quite prepared for the full extent of a phangirl's thoughts, "I take it that Erik must have followed later, going into the house to rescue his beloved Christine and his young houseguest here… yes, I know of her already, I do have some correspondence with Erik. It is through me he does his shopping and I wondered where he had so suddenly developed a taste for lasagna and cheesecake." Sam blushed slightly when the others looked to her.

"It's delicious!" She protested, before becoming more serious. "Where is Erik now? Why isn't he here?"

"I'm sure he just returned to his lair." Clare said reassuringly.

"Sadly, that is not true." The Persian interjected heavily, "Erik was taken unconscious from the mansion grounds by the authorities. A friend of mine in the Secret Police contacted me before Darius and I collected you, when they identified him." The Persian held up a document written in French.

"This will be printed in tomorrow morning's newspapers." He told them, and began to read.

"Opera Ghost Captured… At four thirty pm yesterday (meaning today), Paris's feared and loathed 'Opera Ghost' was captured at the home of prominent social figure the Vicomte Raoul deChagny, where it appears he has tortured the young Vicomte and attempted to steal his fiancée Christine Daae… the mysterious 'ghost' has been re-charged with the murders of Joseph Buquet, a stagehand, and the famous tenor, Signor Ubaldo Piangi, also with harassment and assault. After today's events at the deChagny manor, he has had the charges of arson and murder…"

"But nobody died!" Eriksmistress protested.

"Oh… uh… we kind of pinned Phillipe to a wall and forgot him." Auraella said quietly. The others shrugged.

"Well, he died in the book," Sol said simply (ooh! Alliteration!) "So I guess it doesn't really matter."

"Ahem… mam'selles?" The Persian coughed, "this may interest you all greatly… judgement has been swift on Paris's most famous terrorist, as it has already been ordered that he will be guillotined at eleven o' clock this morning (meaning tomorrow morning)"

"WHAT!" The collective outraged scream was so loud it almost shook the apartment.

"There's no effin' way!" Delta exclaimed.

"We can't let it happen, can we?" E.B.C said in a panicked voice, "they can't kill Erik!"

"We have to break him out!" Debz agreed.

"A rescue? I love rescues! Drinks all round!" Meg exclaimed, waving her hat in the air.

"No drinks, Meg." Delta said sternly, "after, maybe."

"Excuse me, monsieur Daroga, may I please use your kitchen?" Noni asked.

"Why exactly do you need to use my kitchen?" The Persian asked, confused.

"All of my cookies have been eaten, and I would like to make some more, you'd be surprised at how effective they are when used as weapons." Noni replied easily from where she was settled in a large, comfortable leather armchair. Beneath he red cloak, which fanned out over the dark upholstery, she wore a floaty, tan brown bohemian skirt with a wide, woven leather belt at her waist that caught the bottom of a pale cream peasant top with a slightly ruffled neckline.

"Of course." The Persian answered after a short pause, "please do. The kitchen is the third door on the right." Noni smiled her thanks and exited.

"We should plan something- even though sometimes the best plan is none at all- if anything happens to Erik, I swear Paris will feel our wrath!" Adi said savagely, gripping her cheesegrater tightly.

"Is there anything else you can tell us?" Delta asked, "where they're holding him, who has him, how can we get there?"

"Certainly, mademoiselle, of course," The Persian assented.

A mile away, in a small, straw lined cell, Erik awoke, groaning heavily. Warm, sticky blood dripped from a cut on his forehead… on the right side… he moved to hide his deformed cheek with his hand and couldn't- his wrists were encircled by thick iron manacles, chained to the floor on either side of him. A shadow appeared at the cell door, a high cold laugh sending shivers up his spine. A silky, accented voice floated across the air.

"Hello, Erik."

The door opened and a short, thick set man entered. Erik gasped in recognition and reached instinctively for his lasso to find it had disappeared,

"Ah, Erik… it has been too long."

A bludgeon swung out of nowhere, catching Erik on the left cheek. Within minutes, pain wracked screams filled the air.

Damn, I fel evil writing that last paragraph. Erik! We'll save you!  
Erik: You'd better damn well do so, you idiotic Authoress, before I turn my lasso on you!

Meep...


	15. Project Half Mask

**Chapter Fifteen: "Project Half Mask"**

Reltistic pulled a samurai sword from the wall in the Persian's library and swung it experimentally.

"That was a gift from a dear friend of mine who traveled to Japan some years ago."

"May I borrow it? I've developed an affinity for samurai swords… and lightsabres, of course" she said, grinning as she ran an admiring hand along the blade. "This one's beautiful." The Persian smiled briefly.

"What exactly is a lightsabre, mademoiselle?" he asked. Reltistic pulled her lightsabre from it's fastenings and flicked the beam into life with a hiss of static. The Persian flinched slightly as the lightsabre crackled.

"This is a lightsabre"

"Incredible… may I?" Reltistic handed the Persian her humming blade. He swung it a few times, watching it blur as it moved in awe before handing it back.

"An extraordinary weapon" he commented, "everyone is gathering in my dining room for an evening meal"

"Thanks" Reltistic said, laying down the sword and resheathing her lightsabre before dashing off in search of the dining room.

"Shut up everyone! We need your attention!" Adi announced as Darius cleared the dessert dishes away. The remnants of conversation died down quickly.

"This mission, henceforth known as 'Project half mask' will be difficult- Erik is being held in a fortified police station about a mile away, a building guarded by at least seventy men." Delta began.

"But they don't have our weapons, do they? Just swords and knives right?" E.B.C said confidently, "we should be able to get this over and done with within the hour!"

"They also have muskets and primitive rifles- unfortunately." Noni replied.

"I think we should do a stocktake of all our weapons, go around the table and everyone tells us what they have on them." Adi finished, "I've got my cheesegrater, obviously. Meg?"

"Sword, daggers, and an old fashioned pistol- more than one shot" she said, directing the last comment at two girls who looked at each other with a knowing grin.

"Lightsabre" Auraella said, "and ninja stars"

"Nunchucks, stungun and my fingernails" E.B.C said, inspecting the later nonchalantly.

"I've got a dagger" Claire said.

"Me too, and a sword" Eriksmistress added.

"My weapon is a blade on a wire" Moonbeam said, holding the described up.

"I've got my katana and I found my staff during the fire" Sol said.

"2 daggers, a sword and my Amazon staff" Debz continued.

"All I've got is my glove" Sam said, brandishing her bladed hand.

"And a fine glove it is" Adi said, motioning for Jennifer, who was next, to speak.

"Bow and a quiver of arrows for me- 20 left" she said.

"I have a sword" Delta said, looking to Noni who was last.

"Cookies." She said simply.

"Cookies?" everyone else echoed.

"yes. Cookies. Trust me, they'll work. Everyone remembers Spunky-hyper-girl's cookies of doom, right?"

"How could we forget?" Cap'n Meg exclaimed, "They were awesome!"

"Well, my cookies are multipurpose- The ones in the red pouch explode, the ones in the blue pouch are potent enough to render the eater unconscious when it makes contact with the tongue, and the ones in the yellow are just plain cookies to snack on."

"That is all very well and good, but how do you expect to breach the walls?" Darius asked. "there are guards on every wall, most windows and all entrances. Your weapons will be of no use if you are stranded outside."

"You doubt the power of the DBCA?" Adi retorted, "We have exploding biscuits, a pistol, a stungun, a blade on a wire and a bow. That will get us inside."

"It is now almost nine p.m mam'selles" the Persian interrupted, "I shall accompany you to the station, so that you may get there quicker."

"that would be lovely, monsieur daroga, thankyou" Delta said with a smile. The Persian nodded and turned to Darius.

"The covered phaeton, and the freshest horses in the stables." He commanded.

"They would be the blacks, master. Shall I muffle their hooves?"

"An excellent idea, Darius." The tall manservant bowed and left the room quickly.

"Great! Okay, guys, let's get out of here!" Adi said, clapping her hands twice. Every one scrambled to their feet, readjusting weapons.

As she walked through the door, passing the Persian, Reltistic stopped. He held out the sheathed samurai sword she had been admiring.

"I want it back after this mission of yours, mademoiselle." He said quietly.

"Are you sure?" she asked doubtfully, wrapping her hands around the sheathed blade.

"Of course. It sits uselessly on my wall as a decoration and reminder of a friend. I think it would be glad to see some use."

"Wow… thankyou!" Reltistic said, briefly hugging the Persian before dashing off to join her friends. He stared after her in mild shock for a moment before following her to the waiting carriage. He leapt nimbly into the driver's box, seating himself beside Adi, Delta and Noni who were using their position as Admins to get the prime seats. Sam, Cap'n Meg, E.B.C and Debz rode on the back and side boards of the carriage, where footmen usually stood and the other nine DBCAians were squished into a 6 seater interior, 3 on each seat and 3 on the floor.

_Authoress: That sounds very uncomfortable indeed._

Erik: You think that's uncomfortable? Try being shirtless in a drafty cell, manacled to the floor and beaten… well, reviewers, the words 'shirtless' and 'manacled' have made your dear Authoress faint. Annoying child she is, really, I don't know why I put up with her.


	16. Raiding the Station

**Chapter 16: Raiding the Station.**

Erik shivered in the freezing cold of the Parisian night, cramped and bruised muscles aching with the involuntary movement. His waistcoat lay in ruined tatters, his shirt not faring much better but still on his thin body.

He cursed his Persian protégé, Shaheed, and whatever cretin had brought him to Paris. He had become an incredibly cruel man, no longer the boy who laughed as he pulled the wings off flies and teased scorpions with dead mice. He was also incredibly adept with a bludgeon, Erik decided, wincing as he blinked, his right eye swollen almost shut.

Thoroughly sick of cursing his captors, his mind turned to Samantha and her friends. Damn girl he hissed under his breath.

"Girl, Erik? You wouldn't happen to mean little Christine Daae, would you? I've heard all about your little obsession." Erik looked up and sneered. "Not Christine, eh? A new love interest, Erik?" Shaheed laughed, tapping his bludgeon idly on the door of the cell.

"The only interest I have in her is in stringing her up by her neck from the Arc d'Triomphe." 

_(Authoress: Harsh. Very harsh. And why not the Notre Dame? Far more interesting place to be hung, I should think)_

Shaheed clicked his tongue. "Now Erik, that isn't very gentlemanly at all! And besides, in 14 hours, your head will be rolling from the guillotine. Ah, what a spectacle for the poor Parisians who you have terrorised!" With a final tap on the bars, Shaheed walked off chuckling, leaving Erik to sink dejectedly into the straw and dwell on his impending doom. There were fourteen hours for his eventful life to flash before his eyes and he would enjoy, at the very most, two of them.

The carriage pulled to a halt around the corner from Erik's prison and the DBCA-ians piled out, groaning as they stretched their legs.

"Thankyou" Adi said to the Persian who bowed, clucking to his horses and flicking the reins to start them off into the night.

"Right. Everyone, we want to be as quick as possible and cause as few deaths as possible." Delta said.

"But if killing someone seems inevitable, do it" Moonbeam said.

"Look, as much as standing here and discussing killing is great, I really want to go in there and get Erik. It's my fault he's in there." Sam said.

_(Erik: Yeah, well, you did write it!)_

They walked around the corner andlooked up at the high walls surrounding the building confining Erik.

"Ready?"

"Uh huh" Moonbeam crossed the road first, swinging her blade and hooking it onto the top of the wall, near an empty watchtower.

"Who's first?" She asked, holding the wire tight

"I'll go" Debz said.

"Then me" Sam said determinedly. One after the other, the two girls shimmied up the wire while Moonbeam held it secure at street level. Seeing the ease with which they did so, Cap'n Meg went next, her pirate-like climbing abilities getting her to the top quickly.

"Anyone else?" Moonbeam panted, "or can I let this go?"

"Yeah, let it go" Adi said and Moonbeam pulled the blade loose.

"I have an idea" Jennifer said, "can I borrow your wire?" Moonbeam handed it to her and Jennifer tied one end to an arrow, the other to a light post.

_(Authoress: Hmm… this wire just keeps getting longer. Erik: Well, if it get's me out of this lovely little piece of hell… Authoress: yeah, yeah, we're coming… geez, someone's getting vocal)_

Taking aim, she shot the arrow, watching it arc through the air to land by Sam.

"Shi…" she cut herself off (realising that yes, her phic IS PG13 and should have no swearing!), almost jumping out of her skin.

"Tie it somewhere!" Jennifer called up, grabbing a hold of the wire and climbing up once Sam had done so. The others followed suit until only Noni, Moonbeam and Claire remained on the ground.

"We'll take a more conventional entrance, guys" Noni said. Debz untied the wire, tossing it down to Moonbeam, who gathered it up and the three dashed off in the direction of the main entrance. There, Noni flashed a grin at the officers on duty.

"Cookies, monsieurs?" They looked at them suspiciously and then to each other. "Oui, madame" Noni offered them the blue pouch, smiling to herself as they each pulled out one of the mint choc chip cookies within. Her smile widened as they keeled over, unconscious at the first bite.

"Thankyou, monsieurs" she said, taking their keys, "and good night."

Jennifer, Sol, Reltistic and Cap'n Meg ran towards the entrance to the east side of the second floor, struggling to contain their excitement at possibly finding Erik and harming those who had hurt him.

Suddenly a shout came from a window and they stopped dead in their tracks as the muzzle of a rifle appeared. Without a second's hesitation, Cap'n Meg stepped forward, sliding her pistol out of it's holster and pulling the trigger. There was a strangled cry from within the window and Meg blew the smoke from the barrel of her pistol. "Let's go" she said, leading them forward.

They jumped through the open window, not looking down as they moved past the prone form of their would-be killer to hunt Erik out.

A loud gunshot made Adi and Delta look up from the lock they were picking on the fifth floor west entrance.

"Was that one of us?" Delta asked, worried.

"Sounded like Meg's pistol" Adi said after a moment, jiggling a hairpin. The lock popped loudly and the two of them stepped inside warily. They found themselves in a tearoom, no one around but a few uniforms hanging on the wall. A kettle boiled, whistling loudly and a door opened. Noni came through, picking up the kettle.

"Tea? Sorry, they don't have coffee" She said conversationally, "I wondered when someone would show up." Moonbeam and Claire came through the door, munching on choc chip cookies, obviously from the safe yellow pouch.

"Do you think we should disguise ourselves?" Jennifer asked, gesturing to the uniforms.

"And cover this up? No way." Noni said, gesturing at her costume.

"Okay," Moonbeam said, "but can we go now?"

"Tea first, and some cookies. Keep us refreshed for the rest of our search." Noni said, pouring five cups of tea and setting out two cookies each. "Couple of minutes." 

"Two" Adi said firmly, "then we're going."

Looking like a costumed SWAT team, E.B.C, Debz and Eriksmistress advanced slowly down a hallway.

"Erik?" they hissed quietly as they moved, "Erik?"

A deep, male voice called out from behind them and they spun to see a gendarme coming around a corner, holding a shiny rapier up in warning.

"I'll handle this one," Eriksmistress and Debz said in unison, pulling out a sword and a staff respectively. The man watched them approach warily, eyes wide, uncomfortable with the prescence of three girls in a fortified police station. The guard called out again and hobnailed boots could be heard further away, but coming closer. There was a loud crack and the man fell, Eriksmistress and Debz looked back to see E.B.C holstering her stungun. "I handled it, now let's go, quickly!"

They ran, bolting around the next corner, up a flight of stairs and down another corridor. They stopped there, gasping for breath.

"Erik?" Debz called and a thin arm shot out through the bars of a cell, grabbing her around the waist. "Who's Erik, pretty one?" the man wheezed, licking cracked lips.

"Get off me!"Debz screamed, scratching at his arm as she tried to escape his strong grip. A single ninja star whizzed by her ear, landing in the prisoner's chest. He gasped and collapsed, releasing his death grip on Debz. Auraella stepped forward with a bow.

"I heard that Erik's on the next floor up", she said, "let's go get him!" They moved to the end of the hallway, where there was a junction between stairs up from the third floor and down from the fourth. Eriksmistress jumped in fright as Cap'n Meg's hat appeared, followed by the rest of her, Sol, Reltistic and Jennifer.

"Nothing interesting down there." Sol announced.

"Unless you count that guy who looked and sounded exactly like Antonio Banderas" Reltistic added. After a brief phangirl moment (involving a brief shiver of delight from the Authoress, who is enjoying the fact she managed to bring Antonio into her phic!), Auraella motioned for the others to follow her upstairs.

"Erik's up here, let's not delay any longer!"

Noni drained her tea and jumped up, brushing cookie crumbs from her skirt. "Okay, we're on the fifth floor, there's only a tea room and a couple of boring offices. Oh, and that rather interesting torture chamber down the hall. I almost forgot." Claire said, "we checked the first, second and third floors, nothing there, but the fourth floor was swarming with guards, so we didn't want to try it without more people."

"Though I did want to test out my exploding cookies." Noni muttered irritably, holding the door open.

_Two cameo chappies to go, we're about to save Erik! Yay! A rescue! Live, my dear, live!_

Erik: WHAT!

_Anyway… I post no more until I get… (counts) 5 reviews._


	17. A Rescue

**Chapter 17: A Rescue**

So it was that the DBCA came to the 4th floor from opposite ends, in between them many guards and a pissed off Erik. But what of Sam? Well, I don't feel like telling you just yet, suffice to say that both group thought she was with the other.

Erik's head was bowed, eyes glazed, remembering the shy touch of a young girl on his face, her dark hair glossy in the candlelight, her dark eyed gaze trusting… loving…

"Eleven hours, Erik. How do you feel?" Erik growled as the soulful brown eyes disappeared.

"Tell me, Shaheed, are you so enthralled by my company that you must continue to return to my door?" He replied sardonically, feeling a twitch of his usual smirk returning.

"Unchanged even now I see," Shaheed laughed mirthlessly. "I'll be glad to watch your hideous head roll."

"Would I be right in saying that I know you to well?" Erik said, looking up into his one time protégé's cold, black eyes. The younger man laughed again.

"As always, Erik, you amuse me greatly. I think I may just stand here a while, as you digest the fact that you have less than half a day to live." Erik came as close to shrugging as his shackles would allow.

"As you wish. I care not" (_Ooh, Boromir glares daggers at the authoress because she stole his line)_  
Cap'n Meg's pistol was raised, as was E.B.C's frightening stun gun as the twocame up the stairs ahead of the others. Auraella was just behind, four ninja stars between her fingers, ready to throw.

"Can you see anyone coming?" Sol asked, pulling her staff out from beneath her cloak.

"I wonder what the othes are up to" Eriksmistress wondered aloud, batting away the top of Debz's staff from her face as it loomed dangerously close.

"I'll bet they're sore they missed Antonio- or they will be when they find out, anyway."

"Shh… Meg hissed, but to no avail. Three guards approached, swords drawn.

"Aw nuts" Reltistic said, pulling out the Persian's samurai sword. She, Debz and Eriksmistress came forward, weapons raised. Debz easily knocked her opponent out with her staff, while Eriksmistress and Reltistic parried and blocked. The sturdy Samurai blade in Rel's hand bent the guards rapier in a few hits, and she used her lightsabre to hack the blade off near the hilt, sparks of molten metal flying. Auraella threw her stars, pinning him to the wall. Eriksmistress was the last to finish, an overeager strike plunging the blade into the man's shoulder.

"Mercy" he whimpered, "I have a family." He dropped to his knees and Eriksmistress knocked him out with the hilt of her sword.

"Everyone's got a family, idiot" she said. There was a shout from the stairwell and they turned to see more guards coming.

"Lookit, cows!" Meg shouted, pointing behind them. As they turned to look, the DBCAians ran on.

"More guards" Moonbeam said quietly, readying her bladed wire. There was a group of sleepy looking guards leaning against a wall, chatting idly.

"Cookies, arrows, wire or swords… or cheesegrater" Jennifer asked.

"Cheesegrater's reserved for fops, so I'll take the middle one" Adi laughed. The others inspected this man.

"Oh yeah. He is too" Delta said, a slightly disgusted expression on her face. Noni shrugged.

"Cookies it is, then." She reached into the red pouch, marked ominously with a skull and crossbones, pulling out one of her famous 7 layer bars.

"Mmm. Usually delicious, but in this case…" She threw it, watching the explosion it caused with more than just a little delight. The foppish guard in the middle of the group squealed girlishly and jumped into the arms of one of his companions as they were hit by flying debris.

"Pride of France, that one" Sam remarked casually, joining them as they moved past the partially stunned guards.

"Nightshade!" Where did you come from?" Jennifer exclaimed.

_(Australia. Sorry. Feeling rather sarcastic…)_

"Searching offices for clues to where they've stashed my Erik… sorry… Erik… forget I said that… scariest thing I found was a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs. Most interesting was this" She held up a file marked "Shaheed, Aziz" 

"This is the guy in charge of Erik's case. He was invited to come and train the French secret police, says here…" she flicked through a couple of pages, "he's only 28. Young to be the Daroga in Persia. And Erik's in Cell Block B, Cell 2" She threw the file away, seeing no further use for it, and watched the page fall out to hit the floor. There was a boot beside them.

"Rats" Jennifer growled and Moonbeam rolled her eyes, swinging her blade.

"Duck" she commanded quietly and the DBCA ians did so. Needless to say, in a couple of seconds, they were surrounded by headless corpses. They ran on again.

"We've just entered Cell Block B. But we're at Cell 26!" Delta pointed at a sign that said so.

"Well then, we'd better hurry on!"

A young guard ran to the door, waking Erik from the half sleep he'd fallen into.

"What is it?" Shaheed snapped. The young man whispered something to Shaheed who, Erik noted with some amusement, looked rather shocked.

"Get back to your post. Tell your companions that by whatever means necessary, the intruders must die!" Shaheed hissed.

"But monsieur, they are women." Erik's head shot up.

"I don't care! They're already in the block, I can't have them succeeding in their mission!" Shaheed's face had reddened deeply. "Those women will do things that will cause Paris to feel the terror of this murdering fiend again!" The young guard nodded and ran.

"Well, a surprise to say the least." Shaheed muttered, shooting a furious look at Erik."Your friends will not save you." He stalked away, leaving Erik to stare in wonder.

"He cant be far away now!" exclaimed Reltistic, going up to a sign that read Cell Block A, Cell 29. A few men leered at her and she hit the barred door with her samurai sword. Just ahead, E.B.C groaned at the sight of 10 gun carrying guards. She looked to Cap'n Meg, who nodded, and they raised their guns. A fizz of static and a cloud of gunsmoke later, one remained.

"You are no women!" he squealed, "you're demons!"

"Wrong" Eriksmistress said gleefully, "we're phangirls." With Sol, she leaped forward and they slashed DBCA into his doublet Zorro style. He fainted.

"Wait a sec! Is that Adi's voice I can hear?" Auraella asked suddenly. "We must be close!"

"Oh my God! Erik! You're all right!"Sam shrieked, falling against the bars of his cell.

"In what sick, twisted universe do you call this allright?"he growled angrily.

"Sam's" everyone else said in unison. Erik tried to cover his face.

"Sam, I thought you said yours was a Gerik." Adi said, looking confused.

"He's a KaGerik- A bit Kay, a bit Gerry. See?" Adi looked a little closer.

"So he is." They were all looking at a Gerry who hadn't slept or eaten in about a month (or how gaunt he'd be, anyway). But even Sam was surprised by the deformed side of his fce, having never been permitted to see it. Once her shock had worn off, she looked at the maimed, pockmarked skin with an air of fondness, glad for the half of his nose that was missing. It just wouldn't have seemed right for this snarky bastard to be a straight Gerik.

(Erik :Snarky bastard? I was born in wedlock y'know. Authoress: Words take on a different meaning in our time, Erik)

"Erik, stand back" Noni instructed, grabbing another cookie from the red pouch.

"STAND BACK! I'm manacled to the floor, woman!" Erik roared.

"Then lay down!" Adi shouted back, enjoying the thought of Erik in manacles _(or is that just me… lol… I'm sorry, I ate way too many chocolate liqueurs this morning…)_ Noni threw the cookie, shielding her face as bits of the wall flew out everywhere.

"Adi!" Reltistic called, the group rounding the corner. As the dust began to settle, Auraella and Reltistic ran forward to slice through the thick manacles that held Erik, pulling him to his feet. Eriksmistress ran forward to hug him, followed by nearly everyone else. A high pitched cackle echoed behind them and they turned to see Sam held tightly in Shaheed's grip, a large Persian dagger ressed against her throat. She was hissing some rather crude insults at him, causing the dagger to press harder and the arm to go tighter.

"Let's see." The man said coldly, "odd costumes, obsolete weaponry and an idiotic desire to be the saviours of that old fool. You must be fangirls."

"Phangirls, actually." Clare said matter of factly.

"That's exactly what I jut said."

"No, you said fangirls. We're phangirls. Ph. It makes all the difference."

Shaheed regarded her coldly. "Very clever" he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Hey hooknose?" Sam hissed, "try this out for obsolete" with lightning speed that reminded the others of a Mary Sue (shiver) Sam's fist whipped up and around, sending her claws straight into the man's head. (wince) He dropped like a stone and she looked down in disgust.

"Now let's get outta here" Jennifer suggested, "there'll be guards swarming here soon"

On the second floor they simply had to stop. It wasn't Antonio Banderas but Zorro in the cell, and it simply wasn't right to leave an idol in prison.

"Wait, how did Zorro get in a French prison?" Noni asked sceptically "and if the Authoress had to include a random guy in jail cell, why couldn't it have been the Stranger from Dear Frankie?". _(Authress: Actually, far scrummier, hair like in TR2, which leads me to…Erik clamps hand over her mouth Anyway… scenes on boats are educational... just like scenes on ceilings... Erik: slaps forehead) _

"Elena persuaded me to take her to Spain." Zorro explained. "I got lost." At the other's request, Noni freed the spunky Californian, and they were on their way again. To everyone's immense surprise, carriages driven by the Persian and Darius awaited them.

"Get in quickly!" They were told, and they did so, Adi getting the best of it _(because the Authoress has to finish paying her debt off…)_ as she spent the entire 45 minute journey sitting on the unmasked KaGerik's lap.

(And now, my debt is payed… possibly overpaid. But meh, I took too long posting.)

Btw, the title KaGerik is copyrighted by me! Moohahahahaa


	18. Glomped

I remembered a review I got for chapter 16, from a certain Phantom of the Rock Era. It was an anonymous review, so I couldn't reply to it, but she (i am assuming it was a she,I apologise profusely ifI am wrong) asked if she could join he DBCA. I say YES! The more the merrier! Just go to Silvermasque's profile page and click the link to her homepage orpaste this link (which is probably easier) into the spot where it goes... sorry, rather tired at the moment... http/s12. you get there, PM me! I'm Nightshadesister-01 there, too

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**Chapter 18: Glomped**

Erik reclined weakly in an armchair, one hand pressed against his face.

"Opium, Nadir" he growled.

"Erik, this isn't Persia, I don't have to oblige your every whim. Besides, I have none." The Persian lied, hoping his friend wouldn't notice. Darius had a small stash, but he doubted it would be wise to allow Erik to touch any of it.

"Where are those girls?" Erik asked suddenly

"The dining room, I believe, devouring the rest of madame Noni's excellent cookies…"

"It's Noni. Just Noni." They looked up to see the woman in her bohemian outfit standing in the doorway, a tray of cookies in her hands. "they're all following. God, I've made enough cookies today to put me off for life!" She considered her statement. "Well, maybe a month. Dear, the smurflings will not be impressed." Noni smiled at the confused expressions on the face of both men as the entire group of DBCA-ians surrounded her.

"Come on, Noni, I'm starving!" Sol begged.

"Oh, all right. But let these two eat first." Noni offered the tray to the Persian and Erik before laying it down for the others to attack.

"mmm…" Auraella murmured, "brilliant"

"So, does anyone have any idea how we're going to get home?" Noni asked. "I kind of miss my smurflings."

"Oh, don't say we have to go home?" Debz pleaded.

"Can't we just stay, if we want to?" E.B.C asked, eyeing Erik with undisguised longing. He paled visibly beneath his hand.

"Or go to the angst that we want?" Cap'n Meg asked, thinking of Jack in Tortuga.

_(Authoress: glares at the computer. "Erik!" Erik: What now? Authoress: I never thought how to send them off! Erik: That is a problem… whispers to the Authoress Authoress: Yes! And don't take my copy of Harry Potter 4 without asking again, or I'll swap your lasso with E.B.C's tinsel one. And who ever heard of a menacing Phantom with a tinsel lasso?)_

Rel stood and made her way over to the Persian. "Thankyou for the loan" she said, laying the scabbarded samurai sword in his hands. He bowed his head and she returned to her seat. Suddenly, Sam jabbed Erik in the ribs.

_(Erik: OW! How dare you? Authoress: Actually, it's rather simple, I just bend my arm like so and jab)_

He stood stiffly and dropped his hand unwillingly. He didn't want them to see his face, but she had said he had to do it this way, and he could get her back eventually, anyway. And those soulful eyes had been so irritatingly stubborn that he'd had to give in…

"Mam'selles" he began, "I would like to thank each and every one of you for your actions tonight. If it were not for the DBCA, my head would no longer be attached to my body as of eleven o' clock tomorrow morning. And I am rather fond of it, despite certain… drawbacks…" he grimaced deeply, contorting him twisted cheek. "Granted, if it weren't for your foolish actions this afternoon, I would never have been in such a situation…"

"But it was the FOP!" Cap'n Meg exclaimed, cutting him off, "we HAD to do it!" Outside, a clock struck the first chime of midnight and each of the visiting DBCA-ians felt a sharp tug behind their navels.

"But there's no Portkey, what the hell is going on?" Claire exclaimed. _(Authoress: Fall into the plot hole! Fall! Fall! Erik snatches away iced coffee No more of these. Authoress: But six isn't enough! snatches back and finishes… now where were we? Oh yes, Fall!)_

The clock chimed again and Delta shushed the hysterical DBCAians.

"When the clock finishes chiming, we'll all be gone" Adi said, sharing a look with Sam, who shrugged. "So girls, do what you have to, and quickly!" There was a pause of about a millisecond before they launched themselves at Erik.

He fell slowly, with an almost comical look of shock on his twisted face as they scrambled frantically over him, landing tackle hugs and planting kisses of varying degrees of force.

The chime of midnight echoed into silence and in the blink of an eye, Erikwas struggling against nothing but air. Shaking slightly, Erik stood, straightening his tattered shirt, now more ripped than ever, and wiped copious amounts of lipgloss from his cheeks and mouth. Sam watched him with a silent chuckle.

"Well, Erik," she giggled, " I'd say you were just glomped."  
_  
(Authoress: begins the "Erik got massively glomped chant and accompanying dance)_


	19. Memories

**Chapter 19 :Memories**

Erik looked down at Sam's sleeping face, so full of peace and contentment. When they had arrived at the Opera House in Nadir's carriage only 15 minutes ago, she had already been asleep. Loath to interrupt her deep quietude (he rarely had a chance to use that word when it came to his dratted companion) he had been forced to carry her- no mean feat when she wore her purple armour! She had woken, to his immense annoyance, as they crossed the threshold of her room.

"Wha?" She had murmured into his chest, struggling ever so slightly to put her legs down. He had left the room, gone to check that his house had not been disturbed and returned to say goodnight, only to find her fast asleep, tucked up in the swan bed.

Wearily, he went to his own room. He was tired, but didn't want to sleep. Finding himself locked in a cell had reminded him of things he should have locked away in the deepest recesses of his memory… cruel Javert… the jeering crowds… he crouched down with his fingers pressed furiously into his skull, trying to drive the terrible images away, but it didn't work. 

Giovanni… wretched, beautiful Luciana… Russia… his mother…

Finally, he could take no more of it, and slid into his coffin, prepared to take his chances in sleep. His memories disappeared as he closed his eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Sam sat up sharply with a loud gasp at the sound of a sudden, terrified scream. Her heart wrenched with pity as it was repeated, louder this time, and she got up, pulling a loose black dressing gown over her what had been Sorelli's favourite red silk and lace nightgown.She went straight to Erik's room and opened the door. The screams were so loud, heartbreakingly pained, making hot tears prickle in her eyes. She wanted torun to Erik, but the prescence of his spare white mask on the small side table warned her against it. Though she knew that all Erik had seen in her eyes on first gazing on his face was unconcerned acceptance, it was obvious he wasn't in a hurry for her to see it again.

After five minutes of listening to him cry out various names, Sam couldn't stand it any longer. She dashed forward to kneel beside the coffin on it's dais, shaking his thin shoulders and sitting back on her heels when Erik sat up with a sharp gasp, clapping his hand to his face.

"Erik, you were screaming." She said,voice soft and trembling. Erik stared at her face, shocked to see tears making wet tracks down her cheeks.

"you're crying" he said hoarsely, reaching out with his free hand to wipe them away. "why?"

Sam dropped her head to stare at the pentagon shaped scar on her right hand, the product of a fall, and an iron at the age of one and a half. "You were screaming and it just… it hurt me to hear you in so much pain and fear." Erik blanched slightly, staring in disbelief at the girl who was now too uncomfortable to look at him. She wasn't lying though, and little as he knew of why she'd care so much, he could see her honesty.

_(Authoress: God, if you can't see it, you're beyond idiotic. Erik: I do, story me doesn't)_

Erik pulled himself out of the coffin, kneeling beside her and quickly slipping his mask over his twisted face. To his immense surprise, Sam dropped her head onto his shoulder, sliding bare arms around his thin waist. _(Erik: Wait, what happened to your dressing gown? Authoress: Loose dressing gown. Sleeves slipped up. Erik: It would be nice if you'd specify for me in these matters. I was scared for a moment there. Both: Sue moment:lol:)_

After a few moments, Erik returned the embrace with one arm, patting her shoulder awkwardly. They sat like that until Sam pulled away to yawn widely.

"guess I'm a little tired" she chuckled lightly. Erik sat back, noticing the sunken quality of her eyes. She certainly was.

"Go to bed" he commanded. Sam shook her head.

"I want to stay with you."

"I don't need you to, so go! You have to work in a few hours"

"Nah, s'all right." She yawned again. "Madame Giry will understand. And I don't want to go to bed." Erik growled deep in his throat, she really was a petulant child sometimes. An idea struck him and he offered Sam his hand. She took it eagerly, looking rather confused and stood with him. Erik led her to the Louis Philippe room and sat down on the end of her bed.

"In, now, and go to sleep. I will stay until you have." He watched her scramble to do so, burrowing down into the blankets. Erik was staying more for himself than her, there was less chance of his nightmares returning if he was away from his own bed for a while.

He looked around the room, taking in the piles of clothes and stacks of papers lying around. It had looked so very different when Christine had stayed here, far neater. But this seemed to suit Samantha, and every intricacy of her paradoxical nature that he had stumbled across. Maybe that was why he bore her at times tedious company, she was so very strange, like no female he had ever crossed paths with. He reached out and picked up the pile of sketches, flipping through them idly. She was rather good, and knew how to spend time during rehearsals.

There was one of La Sorelli warming up in her dark spirit costume from Faust, another of Carlotta as Margarita (he smirked as he noticed a Punjab lasso dangling behind her head), three of the performing horses on stage, and lastly, one of Meg Giry in the middle of a pirouette, golden hair fanning out like a flying halo.

When he put them down and looked back to Sam, she was asleep again, on her side with one hand half curled by her peaceful face. A few hairs wisped across her face, which he brushed aside delicately, barely touching her skin. Her mouth twitched into a tiny, fleeting smile and settled again, displaying a deep tranquillity which Erik could only dream of.

A sudden wave of tiredness washed over him but he didn't dare return to his coffin. Instead, he lay down behind her, one arm settling instinctively over her waist. He slowly fell asleep, still wearing his mask, into a dreamless slumber, the contrasting scents of lavender and gunpowder surrounding him from her hair.


	20. Time Flies

**Chapter 20- Time Flies**

At 11am, Sam's eyes opened slowly, she slipped into consciousness with a slight grumble. She'd been having a lovely dream that Erik's arm was around her… She felt a slight pressure on her waist and a cold something on her elbow. Slowly turning, she saw Erik asleep, frowning slightly. His arm settled lightly over her, hand on her arm. A delighted smile crept over her face.

She lay there for a few minutes, staring at the sleeping form on top of her coverlet. _(Authoress: Why on top? Why couldn't you have been under? Erik: shivers at mental image Look at the rating, my dear. Authoress: Drat. Now who put that there?)_  
Finally, as the clock on the wall ticked to ten past eleven, she realised it was high time she got up, and explained to Madame Giry why she had not had an assistant for the opening night of Faust.

Slowly, gently, she eased herself out from beneath Erik's arm, wishing she could just stay under it and knowing it would probably be unwise if she was there when he awoke. After quickly dressing in a black work dress, she slipped out of the room with a final look back at him. She almost ran straight into the ballet mistress herself as she turned around.

"Ack!" Madame Giry jumped as Sam screamed, grabbing the 17-year-old girl's arm.

"Samantha, you must tell me, is Erik here?" There was a frightened, frantic look in Madame Giry's eyes. She nodded mutely in reply, slightly confused.

"Then where is he?" Sam pointed to her door and Madame Giry's eyebrows flew up in shock.

"Oh God, nothing like that! He's not interested!" There was a sad note to her last statement that made Madame Giry's eyebrows stay exactly where they were. The door flew open and Erik appeared in the doorway.

"Antoinette? What are you doing here?" He rubbed his hand over the left side of his face.

"Erik, you must hurry- gendarmes are coming down here to search for you. They are on their way now ad we have very little time!" Erik's expression shifted hurriedly between bewilderment, shock and fury. He turned to Sam savagely.

"Clean some of that mess you call a room, and hurry about it- you have two minutes!" He roared. Sam ran, shoving some of the mess under her mattress and throwing her clothes into Madame Giry's grey suitcase.

_(Erik: You still had that thing? Authoress: Well, you never know when you'll need it, do you?)_

She rejoined Madame Giry and Erik, who had a sheaf of papers, obviously his compositions. Madame Giry held a bag full of clothes. Sam smirked briefly, wondering how Erik would react to wrinkled clothes.

"We must hurry now!" Madame Giry said, in her fear the words were slightly hard for Sam to understand, still not being accustomed to her thick accent. Erik pushed her savagely forward, into one of his mirror passages. She didn't have any trouble understanding that, especially with the sound of people moving swiftly through water and Erik's alarm going off.

They ran, Erik easily, Madame Giry as well, with Sam lagging behind. The tall man was carrying only paper, the woman was used to carrying heavy things but she was not. Erik noticed and grabbed her, lifting the young woman onto his back and continuing to run, her suitcase in one hand and his compositions in the other. Sam's arms were around his neck and her legs around his waist. They came to the end of the passage and he put her down.

"Superhuman strength come in handy often?" Sam asked lightly, trying to laugh off their ordeal. Erik glared at her.

"This is no time for bickering" Madame Giry said sharply. "It would seem that the coast is clear, so we can go to my apartment. You two can stay there until it is safe to return to the lair, but we will have to run to avoid being seen." Erik looked at Sam sharply.

"I'll carry the suitcase, but not you. I'm still trying to shake the thought of being glomped by your insane friends." Sam grinned. Madame Giry looked at her in curiosity.

"Madame, there are many things I have to tell you about my escapades last night." She said proudly. A stagehand crossed the hall, and as soon as he was out of sight, Erik flicked the lever, which allowed them to leave the passage. They ran to the left, around the corner and into the second door on the right- into Madame Giry's apartments.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable. Erik, you may sleep on the chaise lounge if you wish… I shall find you a suitable place to sleep, mademoiselle." She looked around the room. "You two stay here. I shall go and meet the police when they return with the managers. _(AN- The managers didn't go 'down once more', they stayed safely in their offices. Just in case I confused you)_ I can smooth over any questions asked about the sudden neatness of the lair." Erik bowed deeply.

"Thankyou madame. I am in your debt." She dipped her head and left the room.

"Damn you girl, if it wasn't for you, I'd still be living comfortably alone!" Erik hissed.

"_Comfortable_! You call wandering aimlessly about the catacombs comfortable? If it weren't for me, you'd still be doing just that, and more miserable than you are now!" Sam flopped onto Madame Giry's bed with a drawn out groan. "How long have I been living with you anyway?" she asked. Erik thought for a moment.

"Three months."

"Of delight, of Elysian peace?" She joked with a giggle.

"On the contrary, almost no delight, and do you call this peaceful?" He replied scornfully, though his lips twitched into a brief smirk for a second. She saw it and smiled too, before staring up at the ceiling.

_It's December already_. She thought to herself. _Nearly Christmas… wonder what I'll get him? _A brief image of a sprig of mistletoe sprang into her mind and she grinned wickedly.

"What are you planning?" Erik asked warily. Sam sat up, an indignant look on her face.

"Me? Planning? Never!" She chuckled and flopped back down. "I was just thinking about Christmas time." Erik groaned.

" I don't do mistletoe" He said, trying to make it sound like a joke.

"You were a mind reader in a past life, weren't you?" Sam asked.

"WHAT?" Erik cried, staring at her in shock. Sam shrugged.

"Don't look so surprised. I would've thought it was obvious." She got up, humming _O Come All Ye Faithful_ and began to unpack her clothes.


	21. An Honour Bestowed On None

**Chapter 21: An Honour Bestowed on None**

"Oh Erik" Sam sang.

"What?" He snapped irritably. Three days in Madame Giry's apartment was enough in his mind, hadn't they searched every level of the opera house thoroughly enough yet? And stalking the corridors by night was growing incredibly boring. He really did need to be seated before his organ again.

Sam pranced forward, dropping an embossed card on the writing desk, on top of the aria he desperately wanted to finish.

"An invitation to the Christmas Eve Bal Masque." He remarked, unimpressed. "Who did you steal that from?" Sam scowled.

"You might like to read my name in the gold writing at the top? It was given to me. And look! I can take someone!"

"Really? Well, you'd better get cracking before the corps de ballet take all of the attractive young men. I hear the pastry boy Pierre across the road is rather dashing."

Sam resisted the unbelievably strong urge to smack Erik across the head. "Idiotic ghost…er, man. I've already found someone."

"_Really_?" Erik swivelled in his chair to look at her, curiosity strong. "Who is it? One of the stagehands? A butcher's boy?" She rolled her eyes.

"_Well_, I was planning on asking you…"

"My dear, the Opera Ghost is not _invited_ anywhere. He goes where he will."

"Well, is _Erik_ a man who can be asked?" He resisted the urge to laugh at her pathetically hopeful expression.

"Possibly. But I don't really want to go." Her face fell quickly.

"Why? Got no costume to top Red Death?" She asked sullenly.

"Oh, I was thinking about attending as a butterfly?" When his sarcastic response received no reply, he returned to his work. After about five minutes, Sam slapped her forehead.

"Does that mean you're going to come?" She squeaked.

"I'll think about it."

"Yes! Oh… and I almost forgot…"She ran to a small table, picked up a newspaper and dropped in front of Erik, smudging the words he had just written. "Read the front page."

He growled deeply, fingers itching for his lasso, and snapped the paper open. His mood improved drastically as he read that the gendarmes had left his cellars and it was now believed that he had died in an as yet unexplained explosion outside his cell door. He took a moment to silently praise Noni and her exploding cookies.

"We shall leave as soon as everything is packed." He said, turning. Sam grinned, holding up her suitcase and his bag.

As soon as his feet touched the stoe floors of his lair, Erik ran to his organ. Sam went silently to her room, unpacking, putting everything back as it had been before she left and picking countless cigarettes up off the floor.

After a few moments, Erik cursed loudly. His works were progressing beautifully, but Sam's voice had drifted to his ears from her room. She was singing_ Think of Me. _

_You will think…_ he swore in six languages (no easy feat) as she began the cadenza. Surely she wasn't going to attempt that high note with no warm-up or training! He'd heard her try and fail before, and cringed when she was supposed to miss the mark- but no terrible off key note jarred his bones, only perfect pitch, sailing through the air, echoing off the rocky walls. It faded away, leaving Erik staring disbelievingly at the door, hairs raised on the back of his neck. There was no way…

"Samantha!" he heard something crash, a curse and she appeared at the door.

"Ye-es?"

"Was that you singing?"

"Ye-es" There was a slightly embarrassed flush on her cheeks.

"Come here." She obeyed quickly, head slightly lower than usual. He smirked. "Choos a song, any song. Preferrably one I can accompany you on." Sam's mind flashed instantly to _Point of No Return_, but she hurriedly dismissed the thought. He would NEVER agree! Then again…

"Any song?"

"Not one of your pathetic future songs." He replied sharply. "They cause me no end of pain."

"Even the musicals?"

"Oh, some of them are all right."

"Well then, my choice is _Point of No Return_- it's both modern and futuristic." Erik twitched.

"Why that one?"

"You said I could choose any." With a growl, Erik began the introduction. Then stopped.

"Look, can you just choose something else? I thought you would want something from one of your other musicals."

"Nope."

"Well then, can I use a different instrument?"

"Uh, sure." Erik disappeared and reappeared almost instantaneously, carrying a well polished violin. He began the introduction to _Angel of Music_ and Sam frowned. This wasn't her song!

_Wandering child, so lost, so helpless  
Yearning for my guidance…._

He paused and looked up at her. Hesitantly, Sam began Christine's line.

_Angel or father? Friend or phantom?  
Who is it there, staring?_

Have you forgotten your angel? Tears sprang to Sam's eyes at the sadness he sang the line with.

_Angel oh speak, what endless longings  
Echo in this whisper_

Erik smiled sadly up at her. Unknowingly, she too was filing this song with her own emotions and was glad he'd chosen to change the song. Would Point of No Return have destroyed her as it had Christine in this situation?

_Too long you've wandered in winter  
Far from my fathering gaze_

Wildly my mind beats against you

Yet the soul obeys!

With unconscious joy, their voices rose to the heights of the song, neither quite realising how the tempo swelled between them, their voices entwining and supporting each other.

_Angel of Music I denied you! (you denied me!)  
Turning from true beauty!  
Angel of Music, my protector! (Do not shun me!)  
Come to me (your) strange angel!_

_I am your angel of music, come to me, angel of music…_

Erik's voice faded away, mesmerising Sam so that she could barely breathe. The strains of the violin faded and she gasped in all the air that she could before looking to Erik, still slightly dazed.

"Well done, Samantha" he said softly.

"Why did you…" he cut her off with a wave of his finger.

"If I had wanted you to try _Point of No Return_, I would have played it. This is an honour I bestow on no one…not a single soul but her…"

"Then why on me?" Erik smiled softly, the first time Sam had ever seen such an expression on his face.

"Consider it a reward, my dear. Now shut up, and go to bed." Sam had seen it coming.


	22. Costuming

**ONE REVIEW!** Nobody loves me!

On a happier note, Thankies to Cap'n Meg, my loyal reviewer from DBCA days. You get cookies, chocolates and rum, my lovely friend.

**Chapter 22: Costuming**

"Are you going to the Christmas masquerade?" Jammes asked as Sam tightened her corset.

"Yes, I'm picking up my costume tonight." Meg replied. The coming party was all the ballet rats could talk about. It was two days away.

"Samantha got an invite." Someone said as Sam picked up Meg's brush to begin braiding her golden silky hair. Jammes giggled.

"Our quiet little maid got an invite?" A few rats joined in with the giggling.

"I'm two and a half years older than you, thankyou very much. And that's Ballet Mistress's Assistant to you, not a maid. You're lucky I'm not off symbolically polishing her cane right now" _(Authoress: Whoa… I cannot believe I just wrote that. Note to self: Never try to incorporate Pirates commentary into a story after drinking undiluted cordial for a quick sugar fix. Erik: Note to self: Never let Sam touch cordial unless we're sure it's diluted.)_

"Are you taking anyone?" Someone asked.

"I might be" Sam said guardedly. "If he wants to come, that is."

"What's his name?"

"Oh gee…" Sam smirked to herself, "it's Erik." (_Authoress: Giggles. Erik: Shut up. You're not funny.)_ The girls dissolved into fits of laughter, cut off periodically as their corsets were tightened.

"He's a genius, earns about 240,000 francs a year, ravishingly handsome and has the voice of an angel." The laughter subsided, replaced by looks of guarded respect.

"240,000 francs" Jammes murmured.

"Have you got a theme to your costume?" Meg asked.

"No…" Sam said slowly, " I'm yet to get a costume…"

"Erik, where can I get a costume in 48 hours fit for the upper crust of Parisian society?"

"You can't" he replied simply, not even looking up. With an aggravated sigh that sounded similar to a banshee's wail, Sam slumped onto a couch. Erik's quill paused.  
(_Erik: Actually, that's a rather good description. Authoress: Shut up, you_.)

" A genius, earns 240,000 a year, ravishingly handsome and the vice of an angel?" Sam's head tilted upwards, so that it was visible amongst the cushions.

"Spying on me?" She asked with mock brightness.

"I am permitted to take an interest in the happenings of my Opera House every now and then, am I not?" he smirked.

"So that's what they're calling it these days… spyer."

"That's not even a word." He paused. "Where on earth did 'ravishingly handsome' come from?"

"You sort of, well, are… in a half starved, sleep deprived sort of way. I…" Suddenly, Erik leapt to his feet , swinging his cloak over his shoulders.

"Hold that thought, though I doubt I want to know what comes next anyway…" he leapt nimbly into the gondola before looking back at her. "And wait here!"

As Sam's bewilderment faded, she shouted after the irritating spectre.

"It's not like I can do anything else!"

**+ 4 HOURS LATER +**  
Erik returned carrying 2 thick packages.

"I had to guess." He said, shoving on package into Sam's arms and looking around. "You cleaned up a little I see." _(Erik: Only a very little)_ He crossed to his room without another word, leaving Sam to stare after him. Eventually, she tore the corner from the package to see the tips of some tufted feathers. She rushed to her own room, tearing the package open as soon as she reached the bed.

A tumble of white dress with black trimmings fell onto the velvety covers, followed by a pair of white slipper-like shoes and an elegant eye mask decorated with the feathers she had seen before. She ran a hand over the fabric before rushing with fumbling fingers to pull her faded red day dress off.

Once she'd dressed in her new gown, mask and shoes, she hurried to the door, planning on sowing Erik what a glorious image he had created by finding this dress. _(Authoress: Yeah, how did you do that, anyway? Erik: A true master of his arts never reveals his secrets. Authoress: Knew you'd say that_)

A long black robe billowed in her face and she screamed, looking up at where there was a black space instead of Erik's head… He chuckled darkly from within.

"The Grim Reaper? Well, that's positively morbid." She said sarcastically, trying to hide the red flush of embarrassment flooding through her. The robe flew backwards to reveal Erik's real costume.

A gold mask covering everything but his eyes and lower face (mouth and chin that is). He wore a dark red, almost blackish waistcoat, embroidered in black and burgundy with small birds. The white shirt beneath was ruffled, and just open enough to see a hint of chest, he also wore his usual black trousers and leather shoes, with dress coat over the top slightly longer and more formal than his usual one.

"much better" Sam sighed, mesmerised by the gleam of his gold mask.

"Well, I'm so very glad to have your approval." Erik said sarcastically.

"So, erm, is there a theme of some kind to our costumes?"

"What do you think?" Sam frowned in concentration.

"No?" Erik shook his head with a sigh.

"Well, these are Persian nightingales on my waistcoat and…" Sam cut him off by landing a violent tackle hug.

"What are you doing!" He cried, extricating Sam's arms from around his waist, "you'll ruin that dress, and it cost a fortune!"

"Hopeless" Sam muttered, before landing another hug.

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	23. Masquerade Part One

**Chapter 23- Masquerade Part One**

"Erik, remind me again why we're coming in through the front door when we live inside?" Sam asked, hitching up her skirts of her glorious gown. Erik pulled her forward impatiently beside him, hurrying up the stairs to the front doors of the Garnier Opera House.

"I don't want to explain it." He replied quickly. The rain was beating down heavily on the darkening street. Behind, a car pulled up and a giggling young lady in fine silks was helped out of it. She squealed as she was rushed towards the shelter. Erik paused, realizing that the young girl on his arm was looking back at the other girl.

"The lady Marie- Lisette Ormonde, second wife of the Duc d'Ormonde." Erik told her quietly, then tugged her forward. "Inside now." They swept forward, pausing only for Erik to give their names to the man on the door.

_"Monsieur Erik and Mademoiselle Samantha." _

They stopped inside the door, looking around at a myriad of spinning colours and bright, loud music.

"Shouldn't we be dancing or something?" Sam asked.

"It is my responsibility to ask you." Erik reminded her. Sam rolled her eyes, despite the furious beating of her heart belying the nervousness that came of being Erik's date.

_(Erik: splutters My DATE? Authoress: Figure of speech, dear.)_

She looked around the many waltzing couples to see one pair slightly separate from the others, to a different choreography. The young man wore a red suit with a fur on his shoulder and the girl, only a little older than Sam was in a Renaissance style gown, black and white with a decorative panel down the front. Her pale brown hair was pulled up into a Spanish bun, which flew out from the nape of her neck as he lifted her up, spinning her in the air.

"Is tha… is that Deb? And- and Viktor Krum?" She asked doubtfully. "How did they get here?"

"Samantha… you know her, don't you?" Erik asked nervously, pointing to a couple sitting by the wall on velvet upholstered chairs.

"Sol! And… Snape? Two Harry Potter men!" She exclaimed quietly, her voice coming out in a squeaky whisper. "Let's go over there!" She grabbed hold of Erik's hand and pulled, catching him off guard and dragging him across the room.

"what's Harry Potter?"

"Book, movie, multi-national mega-million dollar corporation, really." Sam shrugged, stopping before the two people in their seats.

"Sol!"

"Sam!"

"Wow!" Sol stood, her black gown, styled after a Korean wedding gown. The top was kimono like, the skirt layered and gauzy. The two girls hugged briefly.

"Well, you've met Erik before." Sam said, gesturing at the tall skeletally thin man hanging back. He certainly had met Sol before- and he had the bruises to prove it! _(Authoress: Sol! I'm sorry! You're just a very accomplished glomper!)_

"This is Severus Snape." Sol said with a grin. Sam curtseyed deeply to the Professor. "This is my friend Sam, and Erik, the Phantom of the Opera."

"Shh! Not so loud! He's meant to be dead." Sam whispered.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, monsieur." Erik said silkily.

"I'm a professor." Snape said, equally as silkily.

"I apologise, professor" Erik replied, "I was not aware."

"Okay, cool it!" Sam snapped quietly.

The music of the waltz finished with a wild flourish of the violin and a few people made their way over to where the four stood.

"Mel! Deb! Rel! Echo! Renn!" Sam squealed. She jumped twice with a joyful clap, her skirts bouncing heavily and loose sleeves flying.

"I know three of you." Erik said sharply. Mel, Rel and Deb grinned and waved. "Who are you two? And are you in the habit of glomping?" Echo and Renn laughed loudly.

"I'm Echo, also known as Heather." She said, stepping forward and extending her hand. Erik flinched. "And no. I'm not in the habit of glomping… much." He took her hand warily, pressing cold lips to her fingers.

"And this is Renn. Sometimes called AtomicPenguin." Sam gestured to the girl in a fine, medieval style gown in dark purple, beautiful silk for the skirt and sleeves, a decorated bodice laced on her body. "One of my most loyal reviewers."

"Reviewers?"

"Don't ask. Very complicated." Sam grinned. "But anyway, where are your partners?" As if on cue, they arrived, bearing drinks. Aragorn flew straight to Mel's side, arms around her waist and lips on her cheek. Viktor Krum apparated by Deb's side, holding two champagne flutes of butterbeer. Lestat the Vampire was holding a wine glass full of what looked suspiciously like blood and the other filled with expensive wine.

"Where's Jack?" Mel asked Echo.

"I think he found the rum." She replied ruefully, straightening out her dress (which looked unsurprisingly like a pirate's outfit.) Instead of a mask, she wore a wide pirate hat and red bandana, beads in a plaited section of her hair.

_"Doctor Gregory House and Mademoiselle… Cricket?"_

"CRICKET!" The girls shouted. A doctor in a tuxedo and cape (the Phantom of the Operating Suite. Duh) Walked in, leaning heavily on his cane, which was wrapped with tinsel, the other arm held by a girl in a swishy emerald green skirt with leaves of copper coloured embroidery and a puffy sleeved, high collared top a shade lighter than the skirt. A pair of light up reindeer antlers nestled in her hair. She spotted her friends and waved, walking towards them.

"Hey guys!" She said, grinning widely. "Sara says hi." She added, turning to Sam.

"and Sanne says hi back to her." Sam replied with a giggle.

_"Monsieur Gerard Butler and his fiancée, Mademoiselle Aminta Kristine"_

Erik shuddered slightly beside Sam at the name, remembering things from almost exactly one year previously. A tall, broad shouldered man stalked into the room, wearing an all black tuxedo, very like the Don Juan outfit. The girl on his arm wore a low cut blood red corset-bodiced gown, that corset covered in black lace. The skirt was long and poofy, reminding the DBCAians of Christine's masquerade skirt. Sam was almost blinded by the 3.5carat diamond ring on her finger as the light of the gas lamps illuminated it.

"I think you'd describe her as a Sue, wouldn't you?" House asked Cricket. Mel attempted to raise her eyebrows.

"DBCA law dictated that we do not call other members Sues… unless they really deserve it." Sam laughed quietly behind her hand.

"Hey guys!" Aminta said. "I wish my bodyguards had been able to come." She added wistfully.

"Ooh! That's an … incredible… engagement ring! Can I see it?" Echo asked. Aminta's hand twitched behind her skirt, then forward.

"Pretty."

"Hey, Gerry!" Sam said with a squeak. Erik glared.  
_  
(Authoress: Aww… jealous? Erik: grumbles No, just irritated, why must you behave like such an idiot? Authoress: It's in my nature.)_

"Good evening, mademoiselle." Gerry Butler said with a slight bow. Aminta frowned, then jumped with delight.

"Ger-Bear! Look! Mistletoe!" She grabbed her fiancée's hand, dragging him over to where a large clump of mistletoe hung over an alcove. The others shared a knowing laugh while their partners looked to each other in confusion.

A violin took up a Viennese Waltz and a large group of men and women took to the floor.

"Ooh! Aragorn, would you?" Mel asked, putting an arm around his waist. Lestat offered Renn his hand, which she took with a smile. Rel and her partner, the aristocratic Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, took to the floor, her modern black, strapless gown causing quite a sensation beside his elegant English evening wear. Deb and Mel followed their partners to the floor while Erik, Snape and House looked around, trying desperately not to catch the eyes of their partners.

"One dance." Sol said sharply. Snape looked at her as if she was insane. "Just one." Her rolled his eyes and stood, black robes flowing backwards as he led her out to join the dance. Cricket looked to House, who shook his cane.

"Hello? Cane?" Cricket sighed.

"Looks like we're sitting this one out." She said. Sam looked up at Erik almost without hope. He was looking out at the dancers.

"The Viennese Waltz. A difficult dance. I'll be surprised if one of your lot doesn't fall over or bump into someone."

Hey! If we can bust you out of a high security prison, we can certainly do this." Sam protested. Erik hmphed softly.

"I'm not dancing with you." He said sharply after a second.

"Course you're not. You're dancing with me." Sam said, tugging on his hand.

"You'll end up flat on your face, the ridicule of Paris." Sam stopped.

"Aren't I already?" She ran to a small table stand, picking up a paper. "Look, there." She pointed to a cartoon depicting women in cloaks being led by one in armour and wearing a bladed glove to a cowering Raoul deChagny.

"Actually, this shows HIM as being the fool. Most of Paris, including the officers who he reported you to, think he's cracked. You should've heard them around the prison!"

Sam and Cricket turned to each other and hi fived. Suddenly, a slightly more disheveled Aminta rushed by, dragging a very disheveled looking Gerry behind her. A few of the higher society couples sneered. As the music crescendoed into the dance, Sam, Cricket, House and Erik sat in the area formerly occupied by Sol and Snape.

"How did you get dragged here?" House asked Erik under his breath.

"I live here. She wanted to come, I thought it would be a good chance to stop her from annoying me for a little while." House laughed at that.

"Well, she's my most adoring fan… didn't know I had them, actually…"

"What about Cameron?" Cricket asked and House shrugged.

"Anyway, I'm also one of her muses, so I didn't have much of a choice. I hear Professor Snape was on the end of a Love Potion that almost but not quite worked." Erik's eyes bugged slightly for a second.

"They're witches?" He spun to look at Sam and Cricket with faint suspicion.

"I thought the hysteria about Witches ended two hundred years ago Erik. You're a genius, I would've thought you'd be a little more mature. I told you about Harry Potter, didn't I? It's about a young wizard who goes to school. But not anymore. Has the 7th book come out yet at home?"

"Nope. Not even close yet." Cricket shook her head. Then looked up. "Wow. It looks like Jack's a little out of it today." She said as Jack and Echo teetered past, Jack obviously under the influence of more than one large bottle. A man walked by holding a bowl of red and white confectionery better known as …

"CANDY CANES!" Sam and Cricket shouted, pouncing and grabbing a few _(to share, of course… not)_

Candy canes? … Is this some kind of sick joke?" House asked sharply.( heheh... loved that line) Sam and Cricket grinned. But Erik turned quickly.

"I do apologise monsieur, I will make sure the management ask for your forgiveness." House chuckled.

"It was a joke." He reassured him. Sam however, did not lose her indignant expression.

"You never did anything when they cut my pay to 5 francs a week!"

"It was because of me that you kept so much of it. They planned on cutting you to 3 francs a week." 

"Gawrrrr."

"Now now, this is no place for that… and that isn't the outfit for it, either. I could very easily have gotten you a dog costume."

"Play nice, Erik." Cricket said. Sam looked out to the dance sulkily. Her friends were dancing brilliantly, she doubted any of them had ever danced the Viennese Waltz before, but there was barely a hesitation of step, a movement out of place. The gowns whirled by, Mel in her black gown decorated with white feathers at the top, a pair of small, feathered black wings settled on her back. There was a black and white feathered headpiece. Sam was reminded of a black swan.

Aminta, suddenly restored to her full glory twirled past next, followed by Rel, Sol and Snape (who were in perfect timing. Never saw Snape as an expert ballroom dancer, but hey, cool!), a gap, and then Renn and Lestat, who looked just as dangerously alluring as a vampire should. The dance wound down and, slightly out of breath, they found their way back to the other four.

"You guys should get out there! It's so fun!" Aminta cried, hugging Gerry tightly. He nodded. "Tha' i' tis." Jack collapsed into a chair, drink in his hand.

"Give me that!" Echo snapped, pulling the bottle from him and putting it on a passing drinks tray.

"Why's the rum gone?" Jack protested, looking from his hand to Echo.

"Usually, I don't mind it, but for tonight, Rum is a vile drink…"

"Ive heard that one before, love."

It doesn't change how true it is."

"Meg never stopped me from drinking."

"Meg's not here tonight, is she?"

"Where did my Meg go?" Jack asked in a drunk, defiant sort of way.

"She's on holidays at Willy Wonka's chocolate factory." Echo said firmly.

"Johnny Depp and chocolate? Now there's a lucky girl." Renn added.

"So for tonight, you've got me! Echo finished as a familiar, annoying voice echoed through the buzz of conversations.

"Ladies and gentlemen." Firmin announced. "Tonight, as a special farewell to Paris, the members of the Spanish embassy are here." There was polite applause at this. "As a thankyou for your kindness and fine treatment of them, they will be performing a Spanish dance for you all, called the tango." There was more applause, slightly friendlier now that the Parisians knew properly what was going on.

And then, they appeared.

Descending slowly from the top of the masquerade staircase, the proud Spanish senors and senoritas walked arm in arm. The gold brocade on their suits and gowns glistened slightly, the long skirts of the women rustling slightly as they brushed along the ground. Some wore light colours, some wore dark, some wore a mixture of both, but their brilliant Spanish silks put the carefully constructed outfits of the French to shame. (except Erik. And seeing as we're not French and from the 19th century, we don't count in that equation.) Many a Madame and Mademoiselle hissed something in the ear of her husband or beau, mostly resulting in a jump and a nervous look.

While all others were stunning, the last two in the column were breathtaking. The man wore a black velvet tunic coat, embroidered with red and gold, over fine black pants, black boots on his feet. His dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and a simple black silk mask finished the costume. The blonde woman beside him was even more resplendent in black silk, cut just off her shoulders. Her bracelets, necklace and clips were all adorned with rubies, the blood of Mother Earth, rarest of all jewels. But it was not her simple gown, expensive jewellery or even he mask of black satin, edged with red lace and studded around the edges with rubies and diamonds that caught everyone's attention, it was the train connected to her shoulders, trailing along the two stairs behind her. Live rose petals, fragrant and blood red, were sewn onto a single layer of red tulle, more petals scattering slowly as she walked. The train was attached to her back beneath a single, full red rose.

"She looks familiar." Mel said with a frown, unable to pick the proud, stern face. The couples took up their positions, all eyes on the mysterious man and woman. The Spanish were looking to each other and then back to her questioningly. A lone violin took up the song, mournful and sensual. As the first movements of the dance started, a soft drumbeat joined it, as well as another violin, a cello and a flute.

"Who is she?" They heard someone hiss nearby. It seemed that although the most available and richest man in Madrid was being ignored in favour of a man so pale that he must never have seen the light of the sun and a blonde woman, who therefore could not be Spanish (they're all dark haired, aren't they? I'm sorry, by the way, if I have any Spanish readers that I've offended) had taken all of the attention. The mysterious couple swayed, dipped and spun, the rose train scattering petals as they went. The circle in which they were dancing was soon edged with them as half of Paris watched on, mesmerized.

The final, wild flourish of that passionate violinist signaled the end of the dance, the mysterious pair finishing with a dip backwards, the man's hand trailing up from her waist to just by her throat as he bent over her, lips brushing against her throat.

"The Spanish ambassador, and the members of his embassy." Firmin announced, heading a round of wild applause. When the echoes died away, the buzz of gossip and conversation began all over, the new topic the couple who had tangoed as if they were born dancing it.

"Akhanet, you told me your friends were here somewhere…" They heard a silky voice saying. Sam and Mel looked at each other.

"ADI!" The woman in black and roses looked over wildly then grinned as she recognized her friends.

"They're over here." She said, crossing from the floor to where her friends stood. "Hey, how are you guys? Seems like it was only a week ago we were last here."

It is about that, maybe only a little longer." Mel added. Sam grinned.

"Have you all danced yet?" Adi asked.

"All except Sam and Cricket." Sol replied.

"Erik doesn't want to dance with me." Sam said.

"Erik!" Adi exclaimed. _(Erik: oh that's right, you can't succeed with me so you stick your friends on me.)_

"I will not." He said.

"Fine. I'll just get Boromir in here instead." If Sam had been a dog, her ears would've pricked up there.

"Boromir?" She exclaimed. Aminta returned from the mistletoe with Gerry once more.

"Oh, Adi, when did you get here?" Adi looked at Gerry.

"Couldn't you find Josh?" she asked.

"Who's Josh?" Gerry asked suspiciously.

"Enough!" Aminta cried. "Come on, Gerry, that mistletoe's still free…"

"Any excuse" Sam muttered as the two left. Again. Erik turned to her.

"Will you stop nagging me if I dance with you?" he asked.

"It's a distinct possibility." Sam replied evenly.

"Then, Mademoiselle, would you do me the honour of the next dance?" He asked, offering his hand with a short bow.

"I would be delighted, monsieur." She replied with a grin.

_"Monsieur le Vicomte Raoul deChagny and his fiancée Mademoiselle Christine Daae."_

_Ooh! I've left you all with a biiiig cliffie there! Mwahahahahahaaaacoughchokesplutter_


	24. Masquerade Part Two

**Chapter 24: Masquerade Part Two.**

The entire group turned with a gasp to see Christine and Raoul sweep into the room dressed as…  
…  
…  
…  
…The nightingale and white rose.

"that's OUR theme!" Sam hissed.

"He's wearing a wig!" Renn giggled.

"Yeah, cause he's definitely not a natural blonde, plus Adi cheesegratered his hair off." Deb added.

"Where've you been?" Echo asked, and Deb smiled slyly.

"I'm not about to waste this opportunity to get under the mistletoe with Viktor Krum!"

"Yknow, that's a fair point."

"I did that." Rel said happily, pointing to where a small section of ratty, peroxided hair could be seen beneath the fop's wig. "He looks ridiculous- a BEAK! It was bad enough seeing that on Andre in the movie."

While all of this was happening, Erik stared longingly at Christine as she crossed the room on the arm of her fiancée, laughing at something he had said. Sam, who still held his hand from barely a minute ago, when he had asked her to dance, noticed he was trembling slightly.

"Oh God… she whispered, a fervent prayer. A young woman in a beaded black gown, wearing a black gauzy veil edged in glittering gold stepped up onto a low platform in front of the orchestra. They took up a slow melody and she opened her mouth, a haunting, beautiful sound pouring forth. Sam looked for Carlotta and found her, scowling by the stairs.

"Mademoiselle, I believe I asked for this dance?" Erik said suddenly, lifting their joined hands and sweeping her forward onto the floor. The others followed, even House limping forward- this was the Van Helsing Masquerade dance, the traditional one of the DBCA._ (Well, it is now, in any case...)_

Erik and Sam stood, facing each other, heads high and proud, one step, hands up and they circled each other.

"I didn't know you knew this dance!" She whispered, surprised.

"I don't. I'm guessing." They danced on in silence, Erik's strong, thin arm an insistent pressure on Sam's constricted rib cage. She saw Cricket and House dance by, the latter supporting himself on his partner. Even Aminta and Gerry had forsaken the mistletoe for this beautiful, corporeal dance.

"How did you manage to get these costumes in 4 hours?" Sam asked, watching her skirt billow out through the corner of her eye. Erik scowled down on her and looked away, to where Christine winced, Raoul treading on her toes.

"These were made for you and Christine!" She cried suddenly and Erik's arm convulsed as he threw her backwards into a dip.

"Shh!"

"So it is true!" She said as she was pulled upright again.

"It looks better on you, than it would've on her. I had to have the seams let out though." It was Sam's turn to scowl, and she pushed her heel into the Phantom's foot angrily. He growled and spun her, cold eyes locking on hers as she faced him again. They continued in silence as the music spun around them, crescendoing in a wild beauty, until she was thrown back in another dip, for the end of the dance. Erik's face hovered over hers, a slight smile on his face. Sam looked up, past him. Echo, Deb and Rel had finished the dance nearby and were pointing above Erik's head. A small green sprig caught her eye.

"Mistletoe!" Sol said, appearing, "Erik, that's mistletoe! You have to kiss her!" The Phantom and his houseguest slowly rose, Erik looking up as he did so, dread pinching his mouth. When his worst nightmares were confirmed _(Erik: Very **very** worst. Authoress: You're just trying to hurt my feelings. Erik: And it's working.) _he looked back to the girl clutched in his arms, gazing up in apprehension. Sam's breath refused to come; she was frozen, knowing deep in her heart he wouldn't do it. He'd never do it! If it was Christine, maybe, but she wasn't…

His breath was warm on her face, so close, barely 10 centimetres between them when he pulled away, spinning her out of his arms to fall dizzily into those of her friends. She looked up at him, hurt flashing in her eyes for a brief moment before she straightened her face, no sign of her disappointment remaining as she stood, flashing a grateful smile to Deb and Renn, who had caught her, and walked from the floor with them. They'd all left the floor, he saw, and waited with sympathy etched on what was visible of their faces. She brushed it away with a laugh and a smile.

Deep inside, Erik's gut twinged with guilt. A kiss. It didn't have to mean anything, just the fulfillment of a stupid tradition. He looked up and cursed the green leaves above him silently.

"Excuse me, monsieur?" He jumped and looked down. Christine!

"Monsieur?"

"Y-yes, mademoiselle?" Why oh why did his hands have to shake so?

"I, um… this must seem so terribly forward, but… I… you remind me of someone- someone I knew." Oh, this just wasn't fair.

"Do I? You must be mistaken, I don't recall…"

"Oh, I know, it's so silly. I'm sorry, monsieur." She turned away

"Make nothing of it, Christine." He cringed as the words left his mouth and she spun, surprise and disbelief on her features.

"It is you! Er-"

"NO!" He turned and ran, disappearing through one of his numerous passageways.

"Wow. That was just mean." Renn said, an arm over Sam's shoulder.

"Nah. It's Erik." She grinned.

"Speaking of Erik, where is he?" Rel asked. "He's disappeared!" They all looked over to where he had been standing. There was only Christine, looking forlorn.

"To disappear entirely, that is a rare gift." Aragorn said, earning a shiver and smile of delight from Mel and Adi.

"Oh dear." Echo sighed. Sam growled and stormed over to the quivering soprano.

"Well, here comes trouble." Deb said with a small laugh. Grabbing hold of their partners, the DBCAians followed.

"What did you do?" Adi asked straight out, as Sam opened her mouth. "Sorry, had to."

"What do you mean?" Christine quivered in fear at the large group surrounding her.

"Why did Erik leave?" Dracula asked, advancing on her dangerously.

"I knew it was him! I was about to say so and…"

You stupid girl!" Sam snapped.

"Vich vay deed he go?" Viktor demanded and a whimpering Christine pointed to the left. The DBCAians walked to the side.

"The roof! He's gone to the roof!" Sam hissed, running forward. Aragorn grabbed her shoulder.

"Maybe he wants to be alone?"

"And in any case, let's take this slowly." Mr Darcy added. "Something tells me it's not a good idea to burst in on him, if he's upset."

"That something being me." Rel said with a slight scowl.

"I'm sorry my dear." Rel grinned.

"If the man wants some alone time, give it to him. Just like if a pirate wants rum, let him drink it." Jack said, sounding more tipsy than usual.

"The exception being when he has already drunk the equivalent of a barrel." Lestat said, nose wrinkled against the smell of alcohol on Jack's breath.

"You want to be run through, boy?"

"Jack! Enough! Raise your sword at him and he'll drain you dry!" Renn snapped.

"Vy are pirates so stupid, Deb?" Viktor asked quietly. His partner giggled.

"I wish you'd talk more often. It sounds so good!"

"Are you going after him or not?" Snape asked coldly.

"Should I?" Sam was wracked with indecision, chewing on her lip worriedly.

"Do you think you should?" Dracula asked her, one black clad arm around Adi's waist. Sam thought for a moment then nodded slowly.

"Then again, that may just be phangirlyness kicking in." She added.

"All the more reason to go. So let's." Mel said, leading the way.

A sound like the music of heaven echoed behind the door leading to Apollo's Lyre. With only a moment's hesitation, Sam opened it, to reveal a melancholy sight. Erik sat beneath the hooves of one of the winged horse statues, casting his bow across the strings of his violin to one of Sam's favourite Christmas carols. (_of which there are a few- Silent Night, Mary's Boy Child, O Come All Ye Faithful- my ultimate favourite- and Gloria)_

_Angels we have heard on high…_ Sam murmured, the slightest hint of song on her lips. She stopped, a little embarrassed to sing in front of her friends. Besides, it wouldn't do to have Erik see them. Not right now, anyway.

"He's crying." Rel said sadly. And Sam noticed the tears glistening on the golden mask. She forced down a lump in her throat, pity for her Phantom tearing at her heart. _(Erik: Your phantom? Authoress: 'nother figure of speech.)_

"We should go." Sam whispered. "I don't think he'd want us to see him like this." There were a few moans of dismay at this, but mostly agreement. Erik's misery and thoughts were for himself alone. They would only be in the way. Slowly, they began to make their way back to the masquerade.

"Ooh! Look Gerry, a closet!" Aminta stopped, staring up at a tall, polished wardrobe. "Shall we?"

"Oh, for the love of God, Mintie, do you have to say it so loud?" Gerry asked, his rounded Scottish accent making more than one pair of knees tremble. (Y'know, I can hear him saying that line in my head). With an apologetic shrug to the others, he pulled his fiancée inside.

"Er… okay…"

"Hey, that's no fair! Its my turn to get some sort of action!" Mel _(heh… sorry Mel…) _pushed her way forwards and wrenched open the wardrobe. There was no-one there, just a few Elvish cloaks.

"Woah. That was unexpected." Renn said, blinking.

"Oh well. Middle Earth, here I come!" Mel pulled Aragorn in after her and swung the door most of the way closed. Then it opened again. "Sure you don't wanna come say hello to Boromir, Sam?" She asked, wiggling her eyebrows _(it just strikes me as hilarious when people do that. Had to put it in)_.

"I'm tempted, but no. And I'm likely to regret that, aren't I?" Sam laughed.

"I'll tell him you said hi." The door closed.

So this time we don't have to go home as such? We can go where we want?" Sol asked.

"Joys of the mysterious intergalactic plothole, huh?" Sam replied with a grin. Deb jumped forward, landing a tackle hug on her friend.

"Sorry pal, but it's time for me to meet the parents." Viktor swept her up into his strong arms and she giggled.

"So long, farewell and all that! I'll write!" She called as the two were enveloped by a bunch of coats.

"Where for a holiday, Doctor? I hear Venice is nice this time of year." Cricket asked.

Who put you up to asking that? Sara?" He chuckled then nodded. Another member of their illustrious group gone.

"Our turn, Lestat?" Renn asked with a yawn. The vampire smirked and stepped into the wardrobe with her.

"Great to see you, Renn, maybe another time soon?"

"If I find another opportunity!" She grinned, closing the door. When it swung open again, the rack was hung with black robes.

"My cue, I'm guessing?" Sol grinned and hugged Sam. "Call me sometime, we'll organize another fop hunt."

"If we get phones here in my lifetime!" Snape, glad to be going home, almost slammed the door. Only Rel, Echo and Adi were left with Sam now.

"Akhanet?" Dracula took her hand and led he forward, before turning and bowing theatrically to Sam.

"An honour and a pleasure, my dear." He murmured, stepping in and closing the door. It creaked open after a second, sensing it's job was not done.

"Our turn, mr Darcy?" Rel asked. Darcy looked at the clothes in the wardrobe and nodded.

Come, miss Reltistic. I would be delighted if you would come with me to my good friend Bingley's house, Netherfield. He has let it for the summer."

"Okay!" She rushed in after him, winking and waving to her friends.

Have fun Rel!" Sam and Echo laughed, waving. When the door closed, they turned to each other.

"Guess it's goodbye for now." Echo said.

I believe the term is au revoir, but my French sucks."

"It does. Your accent is pathetic, you sound like you're talking about olives." Erik stood in the shadows, face hidden, only a pale glint from his mask visible. Sam poked her tongue out and Echo laughed.

"Well, see ya sometime, Echo. Hope you don't have too much trouble with him in his natural habitat."

"You sound like you're talking about a dog." Jack said.

"And so I am, a very capable sea dog. Now you look after my good friend here and don't get in too much trouble." Sam said, giving the Captain a hug.

"Pirate." He said, pointing to himself.

"Good point. Well, get in as much trouble as you like, as long as you don't get her killed." Captain Jack Sparrow took his hat from his head, bowed with barely a wobble and leapt into the wardrobe, followed by Echo.

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me…_ Sam grinned and turned to where Erik stepped out of the shadows slowly.

They've all gone?" He asked.

"Every last one." Sam sighed, her sigh becoming a yawn.

"Who is Boromir? Your friend Mel asked…"

"The single hottest Middle Earthian ever to exist." Sam replied quickly.

"And you chose to stay here rather than have a chance with him?" Sam shrugged.

"I'm not done irritating you yet. One project at a time, please." Despite himself, Erik's lips twitched into a smile.

"Come, it's late." He said, sweeping her forwards, "and I'm sorry." Sam yawned again.

"Don't be. I knew you wouldn't do it."

_Authoress: raises glass tipsily Not my best work, but I hope you all enjoyed!  
Erik: snatches glass Straight rum? shakes head no wonder you're off your face.  
Authoress: This is a party, isn't it? Let me party!  
Erik: I don't know you. I really don't. Who are you? Have we met before?_


	25. Return of Death's Henchwoman

**Chapter 25: Mid Season Interruption and the Return of Death's Henchwoman**

" Girls, girls, we have been peforming this opera for how long? Why do you keep making stupid mistakes?" Madame Giry shouted. The giggling ballet rats were suddenly silent.

"We're sorry, madame Giry!" one girl pleaded.

"If this level of carelessness continues, I shall have to ban you all from activities outside your dancing!"

"You can't do that!" Jammes whimpered. The ballet mistress glared at her.

"Into your lines!" She called, clapping angrily. Sam slouched in her chair, watching the orchestra members settling into their positions for yet another dress rehearsal.

"STOP STOP STOP!" Firmin's voice echoed across the mostly quiet theatre. Sam jumped and sat up straighter.

"What is it monsieur?" Madame Giry asked, shocked.

"This season of Faust has been cancelled, by order of our patron, the Vicomte!" He spat furiously, and brandished a note, written in green ink. Reyer, who was still standing as if about to start conducting, keeled over in a dead faint and Carlotta squarked.

"On New Years Eve, we will begin a season of Il Muto." The theatre erupted in fresh fits of shocked conversation. "As such!" Firmin continued, "This rehearsal is also cancelled." With that, he stomped out of the theatre, slamming a door behind him. Sam caught Madame Giry's eye, questioning. She received the same look in return.

As she helped the rats undress, Madame Giry bailed Sam up.

"Is this Erik's doing?" She asked.

"If it is, I had no idea of it. Why would he want Faust cancelled in favour of Il Muto anyway? Faust is better."

"I don't know. Maybe he just wants to cause frustration?"

"I thought he was past that."

"I hoped." Madame Giry smiled sadly. "You go, see if you can find out if it was him." Sam nodded.

"I have some chores to do anyway, washing and the like." She put a brush down and went on her way.

Erik was on a leisurely stroll, the appearance of Christine in his life on his mind. He heard something shifting above and looked up to see Sam balancing on a narrow beam, pulling what appeared to be his socks off a thin wire.

"Samantha, what in G-"

"Catch." She called, rolling the socks together and dropping them without looking away from the line.

"They invented washing lines for this sort of thing, you realize." He grumbled, staring at his socks.

"Yes, but really, we can't have the scullery maids going through the Phantom of the Opera's underwear and saying 'mm, I wonder who these belong to." Erik blinked as something black- his underwear- dropped into his arms.

"You washed my underwear?"

"Naturally. You think I was going to say 'ew, icky underwear' and leave them behind?"

"Actually, I would've thought you'd say 'Erik's clothes' and leave it all alone." She laughed wickedly, grabbing hold of the wire above for balance

"Now where would be the fun in that?" She threw down a pair of trousers and a shirt and let herself down, standing with barely a wobble beside Erik. "So, busy day so far?" She asked.

"Not half so busy as yours." He said, glancing down at his cleaned clothes.

"The management got a letter today."

"Really?" 

"Did you send it?"

"I wrote a note asking them to extend the Faust season as I hadn't been to one performance yet. It's still sitting on my desk if you want to see it."

"They got a letter asking for Faust to be cancelled in favour of Il Muto."

"IL MUTO? Who on earth asked for that drivel?"

"Raoul."

"Figures he would. It was performed when he sang to her on the roof. Probably trying to remind her that he has money and power enough to do anything for her."

"Or… he's planning a romantic trip to the Opera for New Years."

"Then I shall have to spoil his plan, won't I?" Erik scowled. Sam sighed.

"Shall I begin packing my bags then?"

"What?"

"You'll be wanting her back, so wouldn't it be a little difficult to explain why another girl is sleeping in her room?"

"I won't take her. I will just make his night in my domain hell on earth."

"Cool. Remind me to pick up some popcorn. It'll be a show worth watching."

Erik looked up from his organ for the first time in five and a half hours, a relatively short time for him. The girl couldn't be heard, and that worried him. No doubt she was up to some kind of trouble, it surely couldn't be that long since he'd heard her singing to one of her God damned CDs. He longed for the day when the player's batteries died. He stood, last thought making him smile, maybe they had just done so? No, surely she would've come running to him, furious at the CD player for dying on her?

He looked around his little house, she'd left a dirty plate on the table, another covered by a warm tea towel. He glanced under and a mouthwatering scent drifted up. There was a note lying by it, which he picked up.

_Erik  
I spent my entire months pay on this, so you'd better bloody well eat it… or I will._

Sam

He chuckled, not in the slightest hungry, and dropped the corner of the tea towel. It was odd to have someone there thinking about such mundane things as food… barely an hour passed when the girl wasn't thinking about her stomach and what she was going to fill it with. Well, she wasn't anywhere in the house, and he had asked her so very nicely not to leave it without his permission…

_Step one foot outside the bounds of this house and by god Ill string you from the Arc dTriomphe…_

Very nicely.

Picking up his cloak, he started down the passageway to the stables. She liked horses, maybe she'd gone there? When he arrived, there was no one. The horses snorted sleepily at his footsteps.

The roof? Madame Giry's room? Talking to someone? Where could he start? Scowling deeply, he decided he'd go and annoy the managers. That would cheer him up, to watch Moncharmin's whiskers quiver with fear and see what shade of purple he could make Firmin turn… His secret passageways got him there quickly, the familiar, neat office a sight for furious eyes. But it seemed he had been beaten to his favourite sport!

In the mirror across the other side of the room _(remembering, as we must, dear readers that Leroux describes Erik's trick for taking his money)_ was a hideous white face, blood running down it, a familiar looking catgut lasso tight around the neck beneath.

"Monsieurs, I must protest against certain… actions partaken recently."

"If you mean the changing of the performance schedule, there really is nothing we can do to fix it!" Moncharmin's whiskers shook so hard they seemed about to leap off his face.

"Oh, no, monsieur, though I find Il Muto to be absolute drivel, I rather like the Mute's costume. Very nice. Actually, I come about the cessation of the Opera Ghost's salary." Firmin laughed outright.

"The Opera Ghost is dead!"

"So am I, monsieur Richard Firmin. I am still here. Continue his payment." The manager laughed again.

"I do not appreciate being laughed at, monsieur." Sam's teeth were gritted as she said this. "Either you pay him, or I cause hell. I know many things, monsieurs, I can cause many things."

Suddenly, a pair of skulls fell from a shelf and three of the ten candles on the desk gutted out. Erik stared, how on earth could she have done that?

"All right, all right!" Moncharmin cried, nearly leaping at Firmin he was so afraid. This girl was sadistic! Erik loved it.

"Excellent, monsieur."

"We shall be hunting for you and your spectral lover, don't you worry." Firmin warned.

"The moment any sort of hunt begins, terrible things shall begin to happen. There are, after all, worse things than a shattered chandelier…" Sam looked around the room, four more candles went out, followed by the rest. Erik grinned. His little trick had frightened Sam slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face.

"I shall be in touch…" A large curl of smoke rose, surrounding her. When it disappeared moments later, she was gone.

"Well, that settles it, we'll call the police in again." Firmin said through gritted teeth.

"We're going to look like a laughing stock, calling them in to investigate the case of a man they've counted as dead." Moncharmin said, lighting the candles again.

"That I can handle. I refuse, however, to pay a deranged girl and her spectral lover." _(ooh, I like that. Erik, will you be my spectral lover? Erik: slap Authoress: I don't believe I quite deserved that.)_

Erik left, with a frustrated swish of his cape. How much trouble did this girl plan on making for him?


	26. The Mysterious Incident of the Skeleton

**Chapter 26: The Mysterious Incident of the Skeleton On-Stage**

Rehearsal of Il Muto was halfway through. Everyone knew what to do, it was running perfectly. They were almost at the end of the first act, and Sam had settled down in the front row to sketch the giggling ballerinas just off stage. Jammes, Meg and a friend of theirs, Cecile, chattered on about something, most likely the most recent addition to the acting ensemble, an English baritone named Tristan Matthews. His French was nearly as bad as Sam's, but she'd never spoken to him. Much as she liked to get to know at least a little about everyone at the Garnier Opera House, he was a very quiet person!

The final notes of Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh finished and those watching applauded, except Sam, whose sketch was nearly finished and she was completely absorbed in the task. A chorus of screams, however, made her look up. That wasn't normal.

A skeleton had risen from the center of the stage, his rickety old bones clicking as he danced on the spot.

"Mesdames and messieurs" a deep voice issued from the skeleton's grinning mouth.

_I may have died and left you all  
And yet I still remain  
From beyond the grave I ask  
Don't hunt me, please refrain._

I will do you no harm  
If my demands are met  
Payment must be sent soon  
If it's not, you will regret

I have no qualms with killing  
In the past you have seen that  
In essence, you all killed me  
And I believe in tit for tat.

Carlotta, please stop squawking,  
Though I'm dead I still can hear  
And Madame Giry I ask  
Kick Jammes out, my dear

_My demands are plain and simple  
Like you all, I must survive  
My managers, my worker bees  
Remember, THIS IS MY HIVE!_

With that, the skeleton crumbled into a pile of moldy bones and a fresh outburst of screaming began.

"The ghost! He's really a ghost now!" Cecile cried hysterically. Sam watched calmly as even the un flappable Madame Giry turned white. The new baritone was flooded with ballet rats who cried and wailed, burying their tear streaked faces in his broad chest. At a beckon from Madame Giry, Sam came onto the stage to help her pry the little flirts off their new prey.

"Come on, Marie, it's all right, see, Michael and Stephen have taken the bones away, you're quite safe. Meg, you can stop screaming now, nothing is going to hurt you… Jammes, you must be cutting the poor man's circulation off! Please, let go of his wrist, I doubt very much that he can feel his hand any more." As she shooed the last rat away, Tristan put a hand on her shoulder.

"Mer… uh, merci boucoup?"

"Mercy bowcoop? Oh, merci boucoup! You're very welcome."

"You speak English?" He looked relieved.

"Uh hup." The tall baritone offered a hand.

"Tristan Matthews, I'm so glad to meet someone who speaks my language!"

"Lots of people do, just not as a first language. A pleasure to meet you, I'm Samantha, the ballet mistress's assistant."

"A great pleasure. How long have you been here?" He wanted to know.

"Three months. I'm still failing dismally at the basics of French!"

"I was taught it from the age of nine- I still can't speak it, though I can write it fluently."

"Well, that makes one of us." Sam grinned as he laughed, this was almost like talking to Erik! Well, this guy wasn't likely to throw a lasso around her neck if she did something he didn't like. Maybe it was more like talking to Cal, her muse. That was it.

"Monsieur Matthews! Over here!" Reyer called.

"Nice to meet you." Sam said, waving.

"A pleasure, Samantha." The baritone wandered over to where Reyer and Carlotta stood, waiting to give him his instructions. Sam returned to her seat and started a new sketch, this time of Tristan Matthews, possibly her newest friend in Paris.


	27. Sam's Mother

**Chapter 27- Sam's Mother**

_I apologise for the language to come in this chapter, it's actually been dulled down from my mother in a rant._

"Must you be so damn annoying!" Erik exclaimed, glaring at the girl who was sitting cross-legged in his coffin, reading a book called The Falconer.

"Yes, actually, it's in the job description." She replied, not even looking up. All of a sudden, she found herself hefted through the air, over Erik's shoulder. He carried her towards the lake, holding her tightly against her wild struggle.

"No! Don't you even think about it! Put me down you maniacal Phantom!"

"Put you down?" He pulled her forward, holding her over the lake.

"In my room!" He carried her back, laughing, and dumped her on the swan bed. She grinned, relishing in this rare occurrence. She'd thought he was going to kill her!

"So, what are you planning on doing to the Vicomte? New Years Eve is 5 days away."

"Oh, you'll see, mademoiselle. You'll see." Erik loomed over her menacingly.

"SAMANTHA BROOKE!" A loud, furious voice echoed through the house by the lake. With a loud curse, Sam jumped to her feet.

"What in God's name was that? Erik growled at her.

"M-m-m-m…"

"Spit it out."

"That's my mum."

"SAMANTHA BROOKE!"

"How did your mother get in my house?"

"How the fu… I mean… How would I know?" Sam blushed.

"Well, you'd better go and see what she wants." Erik said, uncomfortably. With a wild eyed look of terror, Sam moved towards the door.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL THIS TIME? HALF A YEAR AWAY, WE'VE ALL BEEN WORRIED SICK, THOUGHT YOU'D DIED! YOU SELFISH LITTLE BITCH!"

For the first time in three months, Erik saw Sam truly cringe.

"I've only been here nearly four months." She said in a small voice.

"FOUR MONTHS! FOUR MONTHS! I DON'T CARE- YOU'RE SO FUCKING STUPID SOMETIMES! I TURN ON YOUR LAPTOP AND GET A BARRAGE OF BULLSHIT ABOUT YOU BEING IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, GET YOUR STUPID HEAD OUT OF YOUR STUPID FANTASY WORLD!"

"This is real though." Sam whimpered

"ONCE AGAIN, YOU'RE CAVORTING AROUND IN ONE OF YOUR FANTASIES!"

"Look around and smell the mildew, this is real!" Slinking forward, Erik noticed a slight tremble in Sam's defiantly set chin.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING HERE ANYWAY?" Sam's mother, a short woman with dyed blonde hair, brown regrowth showing at the bottom, looked around herself in disgust.

"What is this, the Phantom of the Opera's lair? Who did you steal this trashheap of a home from? And how are you supporting yourself, prostitution?" Erik scowled, he didn't like where this was going at all.

Sam sneered in fury. "You think that lowly of me, mum? Still? I've been missing for three months and the first time you see me, you call me a prostitute? I'm working for the Ballet Mistress of the Garnier Opera House incase you wanted to know the truth." Her chin was definitely quivering now as she fought for control over her emotions.

"HOW DARE YOU! YOU LITTLE BITCH!"

"THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH, MADAM!" Erik roared, stepping out of the kitchen. Sam's mother jumped slightly then her lip twitched.

"Who's this, Samantha? A paying customer?" She sneered.

"That, mum, happens to be Erik. The Phantom of the Opera."

"Fuck off he is, you imbecile. He's just some male escort you've got playing a role because you're so pathetic." Erik started forward, fingers twitching for his lasso.

"Erik, don't please." He stopped, staring at her in surprise. He'd never heard Sam sound so defeated. "What do you want of me, mum?"

"What do you think I want? I want you to stop this fucking charade, come home and behave like a normal human being."

"SHE IS NORMAL!" Erik roared.

"I DON'T REMEMBER ASKING YOU! THIS IS BETWEEN ME AND MY DAUGHTER!"

"Stop!" Sam screamed, "STOP!" Erik faltered at the defeated sound of her voice.

"GET YOUR LAZY ARSE OVER HERE RIGHT NOW. WE'RE GOING HOME." Sam flinched backwards.

"No."

"EXCUSE ME?"

I won't"

"You little ungrateful bitch. Don't you care about us at all?" Sam's mouth dropped.

How can you say that?" Her voice was thick with unshed tears. "I miss you all so much, most of the time. And you're my mum, I love you…"

"Oh, don't lie, you little fantasy slut. I know you, and how much you care- you don't! Or you'd be at home with a job helping me and your father, instead of playing some recluse's whore!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Erik started forward, spun Sam's mother around and planted one foot firmly on her backside. She didn't stop moving, propelled into a run that took her straight through the passage she must have come in through. When he turned back, Sam was curled up in a corner, back pressed firmly into the stone wall, face buried in her arms, shaking, and sobbing inconsolably. Totally bewildered by this, all Erik could do was stare and feel sorry.


	28. Turning 40

And to relieve the stress of last chapter... this is a resolution of sorts.

**Chapter 28: Turning 40**

The next 5 days passed awkwardly, Erik unsure of what to say after the explosive meeting and Sam depressed by it beyond anything he'd seen in her before. So nothing was said beyond greetings and shallow questions about food and objects. Until the Sunday after Sam's mother came, no more than 30 words were spoken in Erik's house per day.

"Erik, when is your birthday?" Sam asked all of a sudden. He blanched.

"What did you just say?"

"I wanted to know when your birthday is. Don't worry. You don't have to tell me." She frowned slightly, turning back to her book.

"It's tomorrow."

"New Year's Eve? Wow. That's my cousin's birthday too."

"Why did you want to know?" Erik's question was cold and sharp.

"Oh, no reason. Just a good thing to know, I guess. Trivias and all that."

"Tell me." Sam shivered at the threatening, alluring quality of his voice.

"It's… er… about your fifth birthday."

"Then I don't want you to do anything! Turning 40 is bad enough without being reminded of that."

"Ok, I'm sorry." Sam said hurriedly, turning back to what she was doing- drawing.

"What's that?" Erik asked after ten minutes of silence from Sam.

"A drawing. Duh."

Of what?"

"Nothing special." She paused. "It's good to actually be speaking properly for once."

"Mmm." Erik looked over at her and then crossed the room, snatching the sketchpad from her hands. His visible eyebrow shot up as he saw what the subject was.

Him, sitting at his organ, head turned.

"He- oh… you like it?"

"Its me."

"And a damn good subject you make. Difficult to draw, though."

"It's all right." He gave her back the sketch pad and looked up at all of his own sketches- Christine's face stared back at him from every angle. "It's good."


	29. Il Muto

**Chapter 29: Il Muto**  
Sam rushed between ballerinas, no matter how many of these nights she did; dressing the girls for performances would never be something she would be used to!The rush, hype and nervousness was so exciting, she loved the atmosphere of the theatre, but her job was stressful. She traded places with one of the make up women. She preferred this to tightening corsets; that hurt her fingers.

She found herself sitting in front of her favourite little rat quiet Meg Giry, who was once again, dancing as the maid in the fist Act and a shepherdess in the second Act. Sam dusted the white powder over her face, expertly applying eye makeup and lipstick.

"Oh Sam, I'm so nervous, he pretends to touch my…" Meg giggled nervously.

"Your butt? Lucky you. But you never minded when it was Piangi."

"But Tristan is so handsome! Everyone is in love with him!"

"I don't. I think he's a very nice person, and rather shy. Poor thing, he doesn't speak French very well…" Sam smiled. "I'm more concerned with poor little Cecile, who's playing the mute. I do like her costume, though."

"Oh, why?"

"She has to pretend to kiss Carlotta." Meg wrinkled up her nose as Sam painted a little black spot on her chin. "There, you're done." 

When the last of the girls was ready for whatever it was they had to dance as first, Sam accompanied them down to sidestage, making sure no one took detours to their lovers amongst the stage crew. It was a part of her job. She nearly ran into Tristan coming down the stairs.

"Oh wow, you look ridiculous!" She blurted, laughing, then gasped, hand flying to her mouth. "I'm sorry." Tristan laughed.

"Don't be. I feel ridiculous! Why did my first role out of school have to be this?" He gestured down at the bright, lacy mass of material and thick white powder caked on his face, then swung his cane. "Then again, I do get to be a lord for a night."

"Well, I guess that's always a good thing. But I have to go." Sam smiled ruefully as she spotted Erik beckoning to her from the flies above.

"Why? Will you be watching?" Sam thought for a moment.

"Yes. Yes I will."

"Why Il Muto?" Erik grumbled, settling uncomfortably close to Sam in the hollow column of Box 5. "Why couldn't he take her to Faust?"

"Faust would remind her of you. Il Muto reminds her of him."

"Ah."

The lights dimmed in the theatre and the door to Box 5 opened. Two people entered, arm in arm. Erik stiffened, recognizing the Vicomte and his fiancée. 

"Erik…"

"Shh!" Christine turned in her seat, frowning. When she saw nothing, she turned back.

"What is it, dear?" Raoul asked.

"Nothing, just… nothing." The curtain raised and the overture began. Christine gasped to see the actors that almost exactly one year ago had acted along side her.

"I thought Faust was playing, Raoul." She said, a frown crossing her face.

"It was. But I got them to cancel it so we could see Il Muto together."

"Oh. How thoughtful, dear." Christine smiled faintly, then looked back to the stage.

_They say that this youth has set my ladys heart aflame  
His lordship sure would die of shock  
His lordship is a laughing stock  
Should he suspect her, god protect her  
Shame! Shame! Shame!  
This faithless lady's bound for Hades…  
Shame! Shame! Shame!_

"A great shame indeed." Erik said, deepening his voice. Christine and Roaul jumped with a gasp. The voice had come from beside them.

"That it is" The voice came from the other side this time. Erik looked to Sam, who winked.

"But what a great shame it is that sits before me!" The two seated people stood, looking around the box.

"Sit down" Erik said sharply, repeating the same line again and again from different angles in the box. Raoul was shivering and Christine huddled up against his chest.

_Sit down, Sit down Sit down Sit down Sit down SIT DOWN!_

"How could you have chosen this… thing." Sam added, accenting her voice to sound English. "When you could have had an Angel…"

Erik scowled down at Sam. She'd gone a little too far.

"Erik?" Christine asked, nervously.

"Erik is dead!" Raoul cried. "He died in that prison!"

"No! I saw him at the masquerade, and he's here now, Raoul!" The Vicomte scowled childishly.

"That's it, Christine, we're going. Now." He snapped.

"No, I… Erik? I want to see if he's really here!" Raoul took her hand pleadingly.

"Please, Christine, there's that party you wanted to go to! Let's head off there now!"

"I…" she was weakening to Raoul's pleas. Sam looked up to see Erik's mouth twisted into a deep frown. "All right."

They swept out of the room, Raoul taking a final look around before closing the door. Sam burst out, gasping for breath.

"My gloves!" Christine called. Erik pulled Sam back inside the column. She found herself caught in his arms, against his thin body.

"Quiet" He mouthed and Sam whimpered slightly. As soon as Christine was gone, he let her go.

An hour later, Erik and Sam had retreated to the roof, where the strains of Il Muto, Act 2 were barely audible. Erik's least favourite opera was making him feel queasy.

_Happy Birthday to you  
Happy Birthday to you  
Happy Birthday dear Erik  
Happy Birthday to you!_

She sang.

"Don't do that." Erik frowned uncomfortably.

"Too late… _Happy Birthday to you…" _Erik sighed and turned to the balcony, looking out over the streetscape of Paris. It was 11:45.

"Hey Erik? The opera's over." Sam said. It was true. Where the infuriating final song of Il Muto had been playing, now the orchestra in the foyer had started a joyful waltz to celebrate the coming New Year. She danced closer, dodging away then closer again. He watched her, amused, then grabbed her as she dodged, pulling her into a waltz stance.

"One, two, three" he said, before starting the dance, around the rooftop. They stopped when Sam stumbled.

"Sorry" she laughed. 

"You'll have to have some lessons, I think." Erik remarked dryly. Sam grinned.

_Ten, nine, eight…_  
"Erik?"

"Hmm?"

"Happy Birthday."

_Seven…_

She leapt forward, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him squarely on the lips.

_Five, four…_

"What the hell was that for?" Erik gasped.

"Two kisses. One for now, and one to save." Sam replied simply.

_Three, two, one…_  
Totally bewildered, Erik lunged for Sam as the first of the fireworks exploded above them. He saw the shock and fright in her eyes for only a few moments before his lips closed over hers and he took his second kiss.

_Oooooooooooooooooooooh! Erik: I despise you. Authoress: I know. But I love you. hugs Erik Erik: Gerrof!_


	30. Musaic Intervention

**Chapter 30: Musaic Intervention**

Sam sat up slowly, yawning and stretching. She smiled hollowly at the memory of something she'd never expected to experience- a kiss from Erik of his own accord. True enough, there had been no feeling in it on his behalf beyond desperate gratitude, it was still a kiss from Erik!

_Wow, you're so lucky. _

"What?" Sam looked around wildly, she could've sworn she'd just heard a female voice!

_Over here!_ Sam's eyes flicked to the mirror hanging on her wall. A willowy girl of about nineteen waved happily, a very wide and cheesy grin on her face. Her glossy, dark hair had been curled and long eyelashes batted over bright blue-grey eyes.

_Long time no speak_

"Sanne?" Sam stared incredulously. This was her muse, standing in the mirror, actually VISIBLE!

Yep, and here's Cal… the muse reached to the side and pulled a tall, muscle bound man dressed in early first century armour up beside her, the leather and steel contrasting with her fine 21st century Ralph Lauren gown. _(Authoress's fact: Emmy Rossum is friends with Ralph Lauren, he is her favourite designer, he used her as his muse for a season. Not only is he Emmy's favourite designer, he's Sanne's too. It's a wonder she's not broke Sanne: I am. I use Cal's money Authoress: Figures) _

_'ello Sammy!_

"Cal!"

_Good tae see ye too._

_Oh my God, Sanne, am I really in?_ Another person squeezed into the mirror, not one of Sam's lot.

"Who…"

_You don't recognize me? I'm Sara!_

"Sara? As in Cricket's Sara?"

_Yeah, she sent me away for some peace and quiet. But, like, who wants peace and quiet?_

_Agreed._ Sanne grinned at Sam's scowl.

"Well, I don't mind it."

_Goo' luck gettin' I'_. Cal laughed as Sam gave him a French salute. Charmin'.

"You 3000 year old son of a Celtic demigod."

_Ye speak th' truth like it be an insult!_

"Samantha? Who are you talking to?" Erik asked, knocking on the door.

"Muses." 

"What?" He walked in, frowning. "What kind of idiocy are you spouting now?"

"I'm talking to my muses. And Cricket's Sara. Or I was. Before you came in."

"Where are these muses?"

"In the mirror."

"Ridiculous, there isn't even a passage behind it."

"Wow, you didn't want to go spying on your angel when she was dressing?"

"ye-NO!" There was a giggle and a snort from the mirror, suddenly devoid of people.

_Hello Erik._ He jumped as Sanne reappeared.

"Erik, meet my fluff brained muse Sanne. You pronounce it Sann-uh. Like the end of Susanna."

Erik bowed. "A pleasure, mademoiselle."

_It is? Really? She's always telling me I'm a disgrace to the universe._

"No comment" Sam said as Erik turned to look at her questioningly. "Ah, look! Cal's back!" The Celtic warrior bowed.

"Calibarr Sunn, Celtic warrior and son of a demi god. Which one, Im not sure. Celtic mythology not being my strong point and all…"

_So ye be th' grea' Erik tha' we've 'eard so much abou'!_

"What did he say?"

"Er… so you're the great Erik that weve heard so much about."

"oh."

_Hey Erik!_

"Oh God."

"Oh God is right. That's Cricket Spinner's Sara. Scary individual."

_I've met scarier. Like DiNozzo. And House._

"Di what?"

_DiNozzo. And House._

"Don't even ask" Sam said hurriedly as Erik turned to her for an explanation.

_Are you going to kiss her again?_ Sara wanted to know

"No!

_Do you love her?_ Sanne asked quickly.

"No!"

_Do you wanna marry her?_

"NO!"

_Will she grow up and have your babies?_

"Too far, Sanne." Sam cut in quickly, reacting to the murderous expression on Erik's face. "It was a birthday present, the kiss. He's a privileged individual."

_Tae ge' a kiss from ye?_

"That's it, Cal, get outta my mirror!"

_G'bye then, Sammy._

_Ooh, that's better, now I can move! He's so cute, Sanne._

_That he is. Can't say the same for her tastes… Sanne pointed at Sam._

"This Boromir character?" Erik asked. This made the two muses giggle.

"Out. Now. Before you hurt yourselves." Sam ordered.

_Oh, fine! Spoilsport! _With a crack, the muses disappeared.

"Well, that was… Interesting…" Sam grinned up at Erik. "So, where's my breakfast?" He scowled.

"Get it yourself."

"oh, that's nice! I get my nose squashed by your mask while you kiss me for no other reason than you didn't know what else to do and you can't even bring me breakfast!" Erik blanched, clearly she'd been right.

"Excuse me, Samantha, but I didn't exactly ask you to kiss me."

"Nor did you have to kiss me in return. Besides, who asks for a birthday present?"

"Well, it isn't exactly as if I make a habit of celebrating."

"I do." Sam stretched. "So, wheres breakfast?"


	31. Erik's Dream

**Chapter 31: Erik's Dream**

The day passed awkwardly in the shadow of the previous night, neither of them daring to touch the other. When they were both reaching for an object, one would pull away quickly, almost violently. So when at last, exhausted, Erik crawled into his coffin, he slipped into the blissful blackness of sleep with surprising ease.

_I want two kisses… one for now… and one to save… He was there, a five year old looking up apprehensively at his mother. Suddenly there was a mirror there hanging in front of her face, showing him the greatest horror he'd ever seen- his own face. Little Erik fell from a balcony as the sun was setting, landing on the pavement of the courtyard below. There was grey liquid seeping from the crushed skull of one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever seen._

Oh Luciana, if only you hadn't wanted to see me!

The pavement became a stone floor, that of his home, there were mirrors everywhere, presenting him with his own face many times over, so that he shivered and turned, over and over, huddling into himself for comfort.

_Pitiful creature of darkness… what kind of life have you known?  
God give me courage to show you… You are not alone…_

Christine's beautiful face appeared in half of the mirrors, beside his own, like a thousand double photo frames of a couple in love. His heart beat echoed all around him, pounding in his ears. Fireworks burst above and his angel whirled. The image before his eyes changed to a girl in the white rose gown spinning, her arms stretched high to the sky and head tilted back. The snow fell on her joyous face, the first snowing winter she had ever experienced in her life. She faded and his angel was back, in a wedding gown, tears streaming down her face as she ran away from him and he was left with his own reflection in a room of mirrors. He collapsed to his knees, defeated by what he saw, lost, beyond the point of no return.

Lead me, save me from my solitude…

_And then she was there, arms pulling him closer, dark hair spilling over to warm his deathly cold neck and shoulders. Her heart beat wildly beneath his cheek with the sheer joy of having him so near, beating in time with his own. Her lips, above his head, formed gentle words he'd never received from another human being. Christine… no, not Christine… she was wilder, more mature, HERE…_

It was Sam in his dreams who held him, in his moment of fear, as she had done before in waking hours… as if her life depended on his happiness…

Erik sat up with a sharp gasp for breath. Never had his dreams ever been so confusing! Memories of his past, they were common, but this… his mother, who he had only wanted to be loved by, Luciana, who had given him his first boyish taste of love, Christine, his angel, his obsession, his life… and the girl! What was the girl doing, reassuring him in his dreams? He shook his head and lay back on the cool satin, forehead creased in frustration. The picture of her spinning in the snow came back to his mind, haunting him. _Hah!_ Haunting _him_! That was ironic.

Sleep continued to elude him, as the loud ticking of a grandfather clock echoed over and over. He got up and crossed to his organ, sitting before it's worn keys. No inspiration came. He growled and left the room, crossing to the Louis Phillipe room where he expected to find her nestled in the velvet sheets. The covers were thrown back, the room empty.

The spinning girl flashed to his mind. Aha! He dashed for his cloak and made his way towards the roof. He smiled mirthlessly when he saw the snow falling around a girl in a white rose gown; the snow already on the ground spiralling up as the white skirt billowed out, blowing it into a flurry. Her arms were out wide and her head back, a wide, blissful smile on her face as she spun in the first proper snowfall of December.

The clearing of his throat Sam stop and stare at him, breathing heavily with surprise.

"Erik?" What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"Couldn't sleep. I needed some fresh air, so I went for a walk to the stables, then I saw it was snowing, put my dress on and came up here."

"Because that's the everyday thing to do, isn't it?" Sam shrugged.

"Who said I was everyday?"

"No, you're definitely not." He hesitated, then stepped forward, shoe crunching on the cold snow. "I dreamed… you were in it." Sam blanched in surprise.

"Me? What, was I killing you with my annoyingness?"

"Actually, no, you weren't. You were… dancing. Like this."

"Wow. Prophetic now." She grinned, shivering slightly. "Geez, it's cold."

"That's why they call it snow. And winter."

"Smart arse." Sam yawned. "Well, I'm all danced out. Bed?" Erik blanched.

"Oh, not together! Geez! Someone's mind is in the gutter." She grinned mischeivously and he wondered if she really had meant... that. He cursed his own idiocy, surely not!

Sam put he arm around his waist, making him freeze. Realising it was a completely innocent act, he relaxed and returned the gesture, leading his tired houseguest home.


	32. Whoops

**Chapter 32: Whoops…**

Sam walked across the stage, dodging ballet rats and actors, stagecrew and musicians. Everyone was on edge today. Not one person was ignorant of the fact that Raoul had left midway through the first act after causing the mid season shift. Needless to say, the Vicomte was not the most popular of men amongst the everyday people of the Opera house, least of all with Sam. She saw his action for what it was- a show that in Erik's domain, he too had power. Not just power, more of it than the Opera Ghost himself. And it rankled, gnawing at both Erik and his young guest.

Not seeing it, she dropped a stick, one of the props for the shepherdesses as she yawned, very tired from her early morning. She grinned as she remembered that, and was promptly broken from her reverie by a shrill scream. She turned to see the two fops from the start of the opera helping the confidante who danced with them to her feet. She couldn't stand.

"You damned idiot! Look at what you've done!" It was then, under a barrage of abuse from an injured performer that Sam realized she had dropped the stick.

"Madame Coutreur, please, the stick was already there." Tristan's deep, British accent boomed around them, nearly a match for Erik in a temper. But not quite. _(Erik: Stu. Authoress: Awww. He's jealous. Erik: I AM NOT! Authoress: You so are)_

"I clearly saw 'er carrying that stick just then."

"You were clearly mistaken then." Madame Giry said, looking sharply at Sam, who blushed deeply.

"What is all this? Madame Coutreur, what is wrong?" Reyer rushed forward.

"I tripped, I 'ave sprained my ankle- or broken it." She replied snappily.

"Let's not be melodramatic now, even if we are in a theatre" Tristan said, striding over to her and motioning for her to sit on the stage. Gently, he removed her shoe and felt her ankle. "A sprain." He announced. "Still, she will not be able perform for at least a month." The actress scowled deeply in Sam's direction.

"Who can take her place? We haven't an understudy yet." Reyer spluttered.

"She did this, so she can take my place!" Madame Coutreur spat venomously, a spiteful gleam in her eye.

"Samantha has no training in opera, how could she possibly do it?" Tristan shot back.

"And I know for a fact she does not dance." Madame Giry added. Sam smiled grimly and performed the entrance of the confidante at the start of the first act. The others watched on, stunned into silence.

"That doesn't change the fact that you can't sing." Reyer said grimly. Sam scowled deeply, insulted.

"I wouldn't be so hasty to make that juddgement, monsieur" Madame Giry said, knowing full well where Sam had been living for three months.

"You believe her to be another Christine Daae?" He snorted.

"There will not ever be another Christine Daae. I am saying that in lieu of what occurred with Miss Daae, you should not rush to conclusions on her." At this, Reyer scowled and gestured for the nearest violinist to take up the tune of the start of act one, Il Muto.

They say that this youth has set my lady's heart aflame! Sam trilled The two actors meant to play the fops stared at the ballet mistress's assistant smirking at Reyer. She wasn't so bad!

_Shame! Shame! Shame!  
This faithless lady's bound for Hades…  
Shame! Shame! Shame!_

"That part is simple. How would you perform in the vocalization?" Reyer snapped, not at all keen to be wrong. Sam shrugged and Tristan began the vocalization, his deep voice ringing around the theatre. Sam joined in on the third note. At the end, he nodded.

"Not so refined, but then I doubt she's ever received operatic lessons. She'll fit the role satisfactorily until a trained replacement can be found."

"I can hardly believe how terrible the organization of this theatre has become! No understudy, only a chorus girl and now the ballet mistress's assistant, a guttersnipe straight off the streets of Paris!"

"Watch who you're calling a guttersnipe!" Sam hissed eyes narrowed and fingers twitching.

"Calm yourself, girl. It is all settled. Samantha will take the place of Madame Coutreur." Madame Giry said coldly, daring Reyer to object. He didn't.

Sam could barely breathe. Previous performances in public had been disasters. All those eyes, those cold, hurtful whispers about where she should be rather than in front of the microphone, The taunts about being last in the school talent quest final, because the teacher judging hated her, plus a large case of stage fright after being told by another girl that she should just drop out now before she humiliated herself. As she waited, painted and dressed up, all of this hit her like a ton of bricks. Her head spun as she heard the twittering of the impatient, waiting crowd. Finally the overture started and she jumped forward, feeling nauseous. The curtain parted to reveal a huge audience, all watching.

Hardly believing it, she completed the dance easily.  
_  
They say that this youth has set my lady's heart aflame!_ She trilled, only the tiniest hint of a quaver in her voice.

_His Lordship sure would die of shock!  
His Lordship is a laughing stock!_

Should he suspect her, God protect her, Shame! Shame! Shame!  
This faithless lady's bound for Hades… Shame! Shame! Shame!  
She was surprised by her confidence. The music hid most of the fear lingering in her voice, the rest was mistaken by those near enough to pick it up as an over eagerness to trill her notes. One of the men flanking her nodded.

"You're not so bad." He whispered.

"Thanks" Reyer scowled at the speaking actors as he conducted the orchestra. Carlotta squarked on in little dancer Cecile's face, and Tristan's. He managed to make a slightly convincing old fool. That song came up, and by this stage, Sam was prepared. She leaned on the fop in blue to support her shaking knees and pinched her thigh to keep her mind clear of nervousness. She grinned as the first Act came to a close. This was working!

_Very short, that one... nods Aren't I such a Sue, joining the cast? Erik: nods vigorously  
Dude, where have you been?  
To London to visit the Queen.  
Did you by any chance try to kill Prince Charles while you were there?  
No...nods while speaking  
Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty.  
No I won't I'm a muse!  
Point there... just don't do it again. Assasinating royals is so cliched._


	33. Foolish, Stupid Girl

**Chapter 33: Foolish, Stupid Girl**  
Erik was barely speaking to her. His dislike for Il Muto extended to those acting in it- unless, of course, her name was Christine Daae, but that is not a matter for the present.

Sam sat down, writing furiously. Erik pounded on his organ, blocking out the scratching of her quill. What was she playing at, taking a position in the performance? And Il Muto? Was she deliberately trying to remind him of Christine?

_She couldn't be! That voice? On a par with Christine's? You've got to be kidding_ He growled as he noticed Sanne's reflection in the pipes of his organ. What was she doing back?

_Sanne, leave th' poor man tae his composin'._ He hasnae got time for ye. Cal waved, taking the girl by the arm.

_An' by th' way, Erik, if she has straigh' hair an' no trainin', 'ow can she remind ye of yer Christine?_

"Go away." Erik hissed. The muses bowed and disappeared. But they had given him an idea for a piece. Possibly more than just the one.

Four hours later, Sam threw her book down and stormed over to Erik.

"Stop, right now!" She screamed over the music. Erik stopped, out of pure shock at her tone.

"You presume to tell me what to do?"

"So I got a role in Il Muto, big deal. The papers aren't raving about me the way they did Christine, I haven't got a foppish admirer, why are you so goddamn angry at me?"

"Why? You went and got yourself noticed! I could've sworn that keeping a low profile was what we had to do right now- that was your idea, was it not?" Sam's jaw tightened defensively.

"That's not fair, Erik. You're denying me any chance at fun. Why can't I do that?"

"Why did you have to get me almost killed, then in trouble with the police again- Firmin and Moncharmin will call the police in, you realize, no matter what you do. Foolish, stupid girl!"

"You're only angry because Christine is getting married today, because it's Raoul she's going to spend her life with and not you- she did love you, in the end and you told her to leave- you destroyed your own chance at happine-" She was cut off sharply with a stinging smack across her cheek.

"Never again will you speak so!" He roared, shoving her away. The echoes took a long time to die down. Sam stood there all the while, holding her cheek and staring.

"Erik?" Another voice called shyly. Erik trembled. "Erik?"

"Christine" he whispered passionately. The former diva appeared like a ghost woman on the lake, the glorious day dress encasing her figure destroyed by the freezing water.

"It is me, I'm here Erik! I've returned!" The tears gathering in Sam's eyes spilled onto her cheeks. This wasn't fair!

"But you, you were meant to be…"

"I know. I couldn't! I saw my wedding dress on the mannequin this morning and I couldn't stop thinking about you! It's been you I've wanted all along."

"Oh yeah, why did you leave?" Sam muttered, then louder. "Shall I be packing my bags then, Erik?" He glanced distractedly in her direction.

"Oh, er… if you want, yes. Go ahead." Christine glared and stepped towards him, quickly fixing a teary smile on her face and reaching up to kiss Erik's lips passionately. Sam shuddered, feeling suddenly very cold. She ran blindly for the Louis-Phillipe Room, throwing her things into the grey suitcase belonging to Madame Giry, hurrying from the lair as soon as she was done, past Erik and Christine, the latter of whom was putting a very literal effect on the term "sucking face". The former was in such a state of bliss that he didn't seem to mind that the soprano was slavering all over his chin.

In the stables, she all but ran into a firm chest.

"What the f… Samantha! What on earth is wrong? Why are you crying?"

"I have to get out of here, right now…"She sobbed. Tristan frowned.

"Is it Reyer? Is he bullying you?"

"Monsieur Reyer is a pompous fool, but he wouldn't bully me. Please, Monsieur Matthews…"

"Tristan. You know to call me Tristan."

"Tristan, I don't want to talk about it. I just have to go."

"Well then, please allow me to be of service- my carriage is just outside." He took her hand and led her towards the stableyard. A covered carriage pulled up in front of them and a dark skinned man jumped out of the back.

"Samantha! I was coming to find you. We must talk. Now." Nadir the Persian said sharply.


	34. A New Place to Stay

**Chapter 34: A New Place to Stay**  
For the third time in her stay in Paris, Sam found herself in the Persian's apartment on the Rue de Rivoli. Also, she realized, this was her third place of accommodation. Feeling as if she would burst with grief, she put her clothes into the wardrobe in the Persian's spare apartment. The richly decorated room was comfortable and warm with a view of the street. But it felt so very odd to have the sun streaming in through her window.

"Mademoiselle, is the room adequate?" Darius asked, poking his dark head around the door.

"It is fine. Thankyou."

"Master asks me to summon you to his study for afternoon tea." She followed him, eyes glued to the pattern on the hall rug. Persian, of course. He left her at the study. After knocking on the door, Sam went in.

"Ah, good. You're here. Sit down." He put a cup of strong Persian coffee in front of her, which she eyed warily, not being a fan of coffee unless it was iced with plenty of sugar.

"Christine has returned to him." Sam said hollowly.

"I know. That is why I had to find you. It is not so simple, nor so innocent as it appears- Christine's motives are not so pure as she leads Erik to believe they are."

"She didn't go because she loves him eternally?"

"She said that?"

"Well, not exactly…"

"What words she spoke are not important right now. Only her motives." He downed a mouthful of coffee. "I received news this morning that Christine Daae and Raoul deChagny were contacted by Monsieurs Firmin and Moncharmin as well as the police in relation to the capture of a certain troublesome Opera Ghost. I believe they spoke of an incident involving a skeleton?" Sam grinned despite herself.

"You know it then. Well, our esteemed managers saw this as quite an affront to their positions at the Opera House and a sign that Erik would kill again soon to frighten them into obeying him. There was also a matter of an apparition who called herself Death's Henchwoman…"

"At your service" Sam cut in with a bow.

"Ah, I thought so. But this puts you in a great deal of danger, Mademoiselle. If they find this out, the consequences may involve the removal of your head or the stretching of your neck."

"They won't find out."

"How can you be so sure? Knowing the effect Christine would have on Erik if she found him, she was assigned the task of getting close to him and learning everything she could about the theatre's ghostly inhabitants."

Sam's face was suddenly devoid of colour. "I'm going to be hung." She whispered, terrified.

"If we can alert Erik to Christine's treachery, you will not be. And in any case, it is possible that he will not tell her who you are. I will do everything in my power to prevent such a fate from finding you." Sam smiled weakly.

"He won't listen if we tell him that Christine isn't with him for love. In fact, I think I'd end up with a length of catgut between me and the ceiling."

"Then we must come up with a plan to reveal her treachery. And soon, before she gets her chance to tell the police everything."

And remember guys, keep R+Ring… there is a prize at the end of the phic for regular reviewers!


	35. Trying to Cope

**Chapter 35: Trying to Cope**

The apartment on the Rue de Rivoli was quiet and restrained. Sam was in bed with 'womanly pains' and neither of the Persian men wanted to get more involved than they had to. It was now that Sam found herself missing Erik most in her short stay do far. Instinctively, he seemed to have understood what it was that made her grimace as she tried so hard to walk upright while her insides were twisting painfully, bringing her potions that soothed everything.

The Persian did all he could to make the heartbroken teenager in his spare room comfortable. She had a bell to call for assistance when she needed it, a hot water bottle was reheated for her every hour and she was treated to the finest luxuries Nadir's pension could allow for. By this time, Sam was sure he had some kind of work on the side, as the pastries Darius brought her at 2.30 on Thursday afternoon were from the finest patisserie in Paris.

She received a visit from Tristan early on Friday. She had ventured from the bedroom and was curled up in an armchair, trying to concentrate on Nadir's copy of Dracula (_Erik: How does he have one? Dracula was published in 1897 and we're currently living in 1872. Bit of a difference. Sam: Dude, shut up. I'm allowed to include a plothole every once in a while. Why did you have to point it out, nobody cares about a little continuity problem like that! Erik; (mutters) I do.) _without thinking of how both Erik and Dracula were both DBCA idols.

"Samantha!" The managers have been in an uproar, they've had to put a ballet rat in your place and have Madame Coutreur sing from the sidelines."

"Oh." Sam looked up from the book without much interest. "Sorry. I'll be there for tonight's performance."

"Mr Khan said you were ill?" He looked very worried. Sam shrugged noncommittally.

"Dear God, what's happened! The last time I saw you, you could barely stand up for grief and now… you almost look as if you've lost all will for life?" Sam's head shot up.

"That was melodramatic. I can assure you, I have every intention of living. I am just… sad." He stepped forward, kneeling before her. She was sickeningly reminded of Raoul.

"Please then, allow me to take you out for the day- the zoo, and a carriage ride in the park, lunch in a café…" Sam smiled weakly.

"Make it a horseback ride rather than carriage and it's a deal." Tristan was only too happy to oblige her.

Erik sat at his organ, Christine standing beside him. Between them, a great and powerful duet rose through the air. He had missed this so much, he truly believed now that it was only the memories of times like this that had kept him alive for a year without Christine. He never noticed, in his bliss, Christine's grimaces at his choice of pieces.

_Past the point of no return  
The final threshold!  
The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn!  
We've passed the point of no return…_

She didn't flinch away when Erik's expressive hands took hers, sliding up over her shoulders to pull her into a desperate, hungry kiss.

Sam strolled along, a dainty lace edged parasol in one hand, the other arm linked in Tristan's. They had ridden at breakneck speeds through the parks on rented hacks before an expensive lunch the bill for which made Sam gasp and utter a word that made the waiter look at her twice.

She was a little upset by the fact that most of the old gowns Madame Giry had given to her were mice eaten now, or torn through overwear, but Tristan had laughed at this and hurried her off to a dress shop. There were three presentable dresses left, a black one like Madame Giry's usual daywear, a periwinkle blue one with lilac flowers that made Sam feel like retching violently when she looked at it, and the one she now wore, a delicate yet practical gown of a deep purple, embroidered decoratively with silver around the cuffs, collar and hem.

The bustle of the gown trailed delicately as they walked arm in arm through the monkey area of the zoo, the forlorn chimps gazing up at her through the bars of their plain cages with sad eyes. They reminded her of Erik.

"Erik, I want to go out into the sun. It's such a bright day today." Christine said suddenly, through a kiss. He looked down at her, hurt.

"You don't want to stay with me?"

"Oh I do, I do! I just… I had the sudden insane urge to visit the zoo!" Erik laughed.

"Well then dear, to the zoo you will go! But I regret to inform you that I shall not be able to accompany you."

"Oh…" Christine remembered to look upset. "Well, if you are not coming, we go to the opera tonight? Together?" Erik paused for a moment.

"Yes" he said softly. "yes, I think we will."

"Tristan, I want to go home." Sam said, tears filling her eyes.

"What is it?" He asked quickly, turning to look directly into her eyes.

"I… just… I need to go home and rest before the performance tonight. And you need to let the management know that my understudy will not be needed." She finished with a defiant tilt to her chin.

"All right. I'll take you now."

They made their way towards the exit, Sam's eyes wandering to the tigers pacing on uncushioned concrete, their heads low, zebras whose hooves scraped as they lipped up hay and a pair of elephants who looked barely able to stand. There were large sores on their feet she saw, as they passed. She bumped into someone as they walked and spun with a snarl.

"Watch where you're going!" She recognised Christine beneath the parasol and growled again.

"I apologise, mademoise… you!" Christine too recognised her.

"I know what you're up to." Sam hissed. "You'd better stop now before we reveal the truth."

"We?" Christine's voice quavered. She frowned. "Stay away. Just don't come near him. I could make him throttle you in your sleep with a single word."

"Oh, so he's your obedient lapdog now?" Sam asked, scorn covering her fear that she was right… just. "I think he's a little more grateful to me than you realise."

"We'll see." Christine smiled up at Tristan, who was watching on in confusion. "Bonjour, monsieur Matthews. I hope I will be seeing you at the performance tonight."

"Oh, you're going? I thought…" he trailed off and smiled weakly. "I shall see you then, Miss Daae." With that, Sam pulled him forward.

"I suppose you too are under the alluring charms of little miss Daae now? She's stringing three along!" Tristan stopped suddenly and glared.

"I have no interest whatsoever in Miss Daae, Samantha. I don't presume to know what was going on back there, and I will not ask. I wonder though, why suddenly you are living with an elderly Persian gentleman rather than in the Opera House and why you are suddenly behaving like the worst of the bitches I've ever met!"

Sam's jaw dropped and she slapped him sharply. "I have been thrown out of my home, and it is only the kindness of Monsieur Khan that keeps me from the street. And now I, Mister Matthews, am trying to cope."

She turned on her heel and strode off defiantly, towards a row of waiting horse drawn cabs. Looking in her purse, she hoped ten francs would cover the trip.


	36. Time For Something Good!

**Chapter 36: Time For Something Good!**

Sam and Tristan were eyeing each other with barely disguised animosity through the performance of that night. She deliberately tripped him as they left the stage at the end of Act One, causing the half full house to laugh hysterically, having seen it through the closing curtains. In Box Five, even Erik managed a chuckle between eye rolls and waves of nausea. Christine had insisted they come- without his lasso. He thought it was a stupid rule, Raoul was sitting, unaware of his presence, in Box Three. With nothing more than a flick of his wrist, the boy could have ended up dead!

Backstage, everyone was fretting. The house was half full! It seemed that the people of Paris shared Erik's view of the Opera. Or maybe they had only come for the opening week in hope that the Opera Ghost might return and cause trouble. It had been a spectacular occurrence just over a year ago!

After the performance, the managers appeared, furious.

"What are we to do?" Firmin growled. "Tonight was a disaster! We need to bring in a new performance. Unfortunately, we cannot just return to performing Faust, the Vicomte forbids it and if we go against his wishes, we may lose his patronage! However, he has agreed that a new production, preferably one that has not been performed in Paris, is in order. Suggestions can be dropped in my office at any time during the next week. Until the decision is made, we must hope that the audience does not drop futher."

Her carriage ride home with Nadir and Darius was full of suggestions.

"Gonoud's Romeo and Juliet" Nadir offered.

"Don Giovanni"

"DON JUAN TRIUMPHANT!" Sam screamed suddenly, making Darius jump and Nadir falter.

"No. You would lose your life to the whistling length of catgut Christine warned you with." He said seriously. "I know he enjoys the Magic Flute."

"Overrated." Darius interjected gruffly. "Mozart's Cosi Fan Tutte."

"Hah, I studied that at school… or a play about it, anyway…" Nadir and Darius looked at her in surprise.

"A play about an opera?"

"Yeah, Cosi, written by an Australian. It's set in a mental hospital in the 1970's and this guy goes in and makes a performance with the patients. One guy wants to do Cosi Fan Tutte, but instead they just interpret the words into English and speak them. It's really funny… hah, Go burn a cat indeed…" Both of the Persians, having lived with cats as sacred creatures, stared at her in horror.

"Oh… sorry…" she said sheepishly. "It was funny, I thought…" She looked out the window.

_Les Miserables! _Shouted the girl in the mirror.

"Sanne?" Sam whispered.

_Make them do Les Mis! I'll get the music for you!_

_No, make it Wicked! _Sara added, _Or a play based on my songs!_

"No. No. I don't think so, Miss Saralyn." The Persians watched her curiously. Was the girl mad, talking to the window?

_Hi Nadir! Hi Darius! _Nadir jumped as a girl in the window waved energetically.

"Sanne, my muse, Sara, Cricket's muse. Don't ask." Sam said dully.

**Why don' ye do somethin' relevan' tae th' opera 'ouse? Th' Phan'om of th' Opera? **Sam's eyes sparkled.

"Brilliant" she said huskily.

**I'll get ye th' score an' libretto.** Cal said with a sly smirk.

_Are you sure it won't get her killed?_ Sanne asked worriedly.

_No' if they practise it elsewhere… in anoth'r buildin'!_

I like your thinking!

Tha's not all ye like abou' me, swee'hear'

"Oh God, that's enough! You're making me sick!" Sam cried, batting the window with her hands.

Cal grinned. _Sorry 'bou' tha'… I cannae 'elp it, I'm jus' too beau'iful…_

_And full of yourself _Sara said.

"That's it, you've unnerved these guys long enough. Out!" Sam ordered. The muses disappeared.

"Ok, tomorrow, I'll have the score, libretto and costume and set designs for The Phantom of the Opera. Hopefully Erik doesn't find out about it, or I'm dead!"

"I think I know how we can pitch it to the managers so they perform it…" Darius said, a crafty smile spreading across his face.


	37. Pitching Phantom

**Chapter 37: Pitching Phantom.**

"Remind me again why I'm doing this?" Sam groaned, looking down at her Death's Henchwoman costume.

"To get Phantom performed." Darius said, laying a dangerous Egyptian Asp over her shoulders. It hissed violently.

"Jesus, I feel like Anak-Su-Namun" She laughed nervously, cautiously lifting the snake's head.

"Just remember, if it bites you, stomp on it's head to kill it and do all you can to cut off the circulation to the area until I can get close enough to wrap the wound" He said, brandishing a roll of creamy bandage.

"Hell of a lot of confidence you're giving me right now." She said drily, stepping up to the mirror. Firmin and Moncharmin were looking through a thick stack of suggestions.

"Hellfire, Richard, these are all pathetically predictable!" Moncharmin said nervously. "Gonoud, Mozart, when will these people learn some originality!

"Ahem. Gentlemen, I may have a solution for you." Sam said coolly, smirking as the two men jumped in shock.

"Oh?" Firmin asked guardedly.

"Yes. I doubt you will like the idea without some explanation, though. It is not exactly a conventional opera. Actually, it is more musical theatre, but I think it may be one of the most popular shows you'll ever run."

"Really?" Firmin's tone was sceptical yet hopeful.

"Really." It was then that the two men noticed the incredibly deadly snake twined around the spectre's neck instead of the usual lasso. Suddenly, they were white.

"The production is titled The Phantom of the Opera. It is, in fact, about this very house. It's famous Ghost and his true story."

"No." Firmin said flatly.

"Uh-uh-uh" Sam trilled. "Wrong answer." An asp slithered under the door and Moncharmin shrieked, leaping onto the desk.

"You'll not get this performed!" Firmin shouted, whiskers shivering. Another asp writhed its way into the room.

"I have many more ready to come in. In fact, there are taipans from the wilderness of Australia and King Cobras from the jungles of Africa who will soon come to greet you."

"You can't scare us." Moncharmin stuttered. "We won't bow to your whims." An asp and a cobra struggled through together. Firmin jumped onto a chair as they entered.

"What do you want?" He asked weakly.

"I want Phantom performed. I want Tristan Matthews in the lead role. I want the characters named who still work here in their roles. That means Carlotta is Carlotta, not Miss Daae. Madame Giry as Madame Giry. Meg as Meg. So on and so forth."

"I want Box Five kept empty. You are to follow the libretto, score and designs within a folio that will arrive in half an hour to the enth degree. The performance is to be rehearsed elsewhere and it is not to be mentioned within the Opera House until opening night…"

"You ask too much." Firmin said firmly.

"My taipans ask for freedom. They are the most deadly snakes in the world, you know." Three of them entered the room and Moncharmin shrieked.

"For God's sake, give her what she wants!" Sam smirked, biting firmly on her lip to keep from laughing.

"My final request is that the young girl who's playing understudy to Madame Coutreur plays Christine. God above and Hell below I wish I could remember the little guttersnipe's name…"

"Samantha something or other?"

"That's the one!" She laughed. "That's her! She'd make a good Christine."

"She's completely untrained!"

"Nevertheless, it will be her role, even if she is dying from typhoid, that role will go to no one else. Or I release the anacondas. Maybe even something more deadly… a live tiger, perhaps?"

Firmin snorted.

"You don't believe? Very well, I'll arrange for one of my furry little friends to visit tomorrow…"

"No! No! Don't! Everything you ask for will be done!" Moncharmin shrieked.

"Nevertheless, I ask that you sign the contract in your desk drawer. It lists my requests." Firmin lunged for the drawer and pulled a document out, looking it over. He picked up a fountain pen and quickly signed it, passing both to Moncharmin quickly.

"Excellent. I regret now that I must go. It was a pleasure doing business with you." She disappeared. Walking to Darius who took the hissing asp from her neck carefully and dropped it into a bag. The others were already put away, Darius's snake charming friend having called them back.

"Thankyou, Darius." She said with a smile.

"My extreme pleasure. It was nice to get revenge for the derision with which they treated master. " He said, smiling faintly back. She was an infidel, after all.


	38. Nadir's Death Wish

**Chapter 38: Nadir's Death Wish**

The performers were gathered inside an abandoned warehouse, looking around curiously and wondering why on earth they weren't in their theatre.

"We have… decided on a performance. We shall be performing the first ever production of _The Phantom of the Opera_ and it must not be mentioned in the opera house at all until opening night. We do not want the Opera Ghost killing anyone." Moncharmin stuttered.

"Anyone who we find has mentioned this production will be cast out with no pay. The person who reports it to us will receive a 500 franc reward." Firmin added. The perfomer's eyes lit up. 500 francs was enough to make them turn on their best friends!

"Casting is as follows. Madame Giry shall be played by herself. Meg Giry will be played by herself. Signor Ubaldo Piangi will be played by Ricardo Luigi. Joseph Buquet will be played by Louis Renault. Raoul deChagny will be played by Jacques de Puppeteer. Carlotta Giudicelli will be played by herself. I will be played by Rudolfo Lorenzo. The co manager Andre will be played by David Reddon."  
"Our leads are as follows.The Phantom will be played by Tristan Matthews and Christine Daae will be played by Samantha Dowling. Smaller parts have been allocated and can be viewed on the boards by the door" He gestured at a large board by the door.

"Our first rehearsal will begin with a reading through of the script and the orchestra will be introduced to the score. Remember, most of this piece is not traditional opera." Moncharmin finished, producing a stack of scripts and handing them to actors, each including only the scenes in which they would be performing to save paper and therefore money. Sam sat beside Tristan.

"My dresses came today." She said conversationally.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Thankyou. I thought after the way I behaved you would have cancelled the order."

"Oh no. I'd paid the non-refundable deposit. I couldn't turn back from there."

"I can't believe I'm a lead." Sam murmured as the script was pressed into her hands.

"Well, you have earned it, I guess. Putting up with Madame Coutreur, and her best friend Signora Giudicelli! That is a feat worthy of a lead diva." Sam grinned.

"Always ready with the flattery, aren't you?" She teased. He nodded and laughed.

"Attention!" Reyer snapped. "Pay attention!"

Erik strolled about the flies, frowning. The theatre was empty but for the cleaners scrubbing the stage. What on earth was going on? He descended from the narrow ways to the backstage. Not a twittering ballet rat in sight.

"Erik?" A familiar voice echoed.

"Nadir? What do you want?"

"As always, Erik, to speak with you. You are in grave danger." Erik frowned.

"I would know if I was in danger, Nadir. What foolishness are you spouting now?"

"The managers have contacted the police about you." Erik snorted.

"What do I care if they want to appear like fools in front of Paris? They've already accounted for my death."

"Yet they are searching for you even now."

"I don't believe you." Erik shot back petulantly, crossing his arms.

"You should, Erik. I am working for them now, but not on your case. I refused the job. But others didn't."

"I haven't seen any police in the opera house for weeks."

"They haven't sent in officers this time Erik. Damn it, they know you're too smart to be caught that way."

"Then what is it, Nadir? Super intelligent rats?"

"I would not call Miss Daae particularly intelligent, Erik." In one instant, Erik had his old friend pinned by his throat to the wall.

"HOW DARE YOU!" He roared.

"It is the truth Erik! You had to be warned!" Nadir choked.

"Never again! If you will continue with these lies you will never come here again and live!" Erik continued, throwing Nadir away from him. "Get out of here before I decide my Punjabbing skills need practise! I swear, I am on the brink of forgetting all that I owe you!" Nadir ran, knowing there was no point in arguing further, unless he had a death wish. He certainly didn't.


	39. When Erik Comes AKnocking

**Chapter 39: When Erik Comes A-Knocking**

Sam was sitting in Nadir's study singing at the top of her lungs to a song pitched too low for her.

_Tough, you think you've got the stuff  
You're telling me and everyone you're hard enough  
You don't have to put up a fight, you don't always have to be right  
Let me take some of the punches for you tonight  
Listen to me now, I need to let you know  
You don't have to go it alone  
And it's you when I look in the mirror  
And it's you when I don't pick up the phone…_

The knocking at the door stopped her. Nadir and Darius were out, who knew where. Nadir had said they would be back by one and it was five to now… she ran to the front door.

"Hey, guys, you're ear…" Her welcoming grin faltered in the face of Erik's white mask, half hidden under a fedora.

"Mademoiselle." He said curtly. "Is the daroga home?"

"No." Sam said, equally as sharply. "What do you want."

"Why are you spreading such vicious rumours about Christine?"

"Er… what rumours?"

"That she has come to me only to turn me over to the police."

"I didn't start that, the police did. Would you like to see the reports?" Erik scowled and brushed his cloak aside to reveal the Punjab lasso hanging at his side.

"Look, can you do me a favour anyway, no matter what the rumours are? Can you not tell her who Death's Henchwoman is? Even if she is with you for love, it won't stop her from turning me in anyway. She dosn't like me much."

"You attacked her in her own home!"

"That's beside the point. She kicked me out of mine." Erik was silent for a moment.

"I won't tell her. While we are on that subject though, is it true that you threatened the managers with deadly snakes recently?" Sam nodded quickly.

"What was it about?"

"Salary issues. I must earn enough to survive, you see. In this house, I have to contribute to my board."

"I should've put that rule in place, shouldn't I?"

"God no! I would've refused and hidden your mask as punishment."

"Then I would've punjabbed you."

"Then you'd never have gotten your mask back and I'd die laughing at you." Erik scowled wanting very much to laugh.

"You really are an idiot, Samantha."

"Compliments are always welcome."

"But I must go now. My last encounter with the daroga was less than friendly and I should be gone before he returns."

"Well, look after yourself, Erik." Sam smiled sadly as he walked to where Cesar stood patiently waiting for him. She had gone back inside when he turned to look back.

When he returned to the Opera House, he found a sight that almost made his heart stop. Christine was standing on the front steps, talking to Raoul. She laughed at something he said and hugged him tenderly.

"CHRISTINE!" He shouted, agony filling every letter. She spun to see him, fear registering in her eyes, before she turned to slap Raoul soundly.

"Leave me alone! How many times must I tell you I want to stay with Erik!"

"But Christine!" Raoul protested.

"No! Leave me!" She shouted, running to Erik with tears in her eyes. As he pulled her up in front of him on the horse and rode off, he thought of how Samantha would have rolled her eyes at such a sight.


	40. Shining Like Swarovski Crystals

**Chapter 40: Shining Like Swarovski Crystals **

_Ah! Here's our little flower! _Carlotta sang, spitting the words in Sam's face.

_Ah, Miss Daae quite the lady of the hour! _The man playing Firmin, Italian Rudolfo Lorenzo sang.

_You have secured the largest role in this Don Juan_ Andre added.

_Christine Daae? She doesn't have the voice _Carlotta spat, remembering as she sang the great disgust she had felt at the time.

_Signora! Please!_

The Raoul of this production, a flamboyantly gay tenor joined in. _Then I take it you're agreeing_

_She's behind this…_

_It appears we have no choice_ Andre sang bitterly

_She's the one behind this!  
Christine Daae!_

Sam grinned as her cue came. _How dare you!_ It felt so fun to sing that at Carlotta.

_I'm not a fool! _Carlotta spat back (Authoress: You sure?)

_You evil woman  
How dare you!_

You think I'm blind!

This isn't my fault.  
I don't want any part in this plot!

"Stop! Stop! It's time for costumes. Enough warming up!" Reyer called, well, he actually snapped.

It had been only a week and the entire cast knew the performance. It was much easier than the full operas they were used to preparing for, the costumes were half finished and the choreography almost perfect. Only a few lazy back row rats didn't know it yet. Sam thought it was a miracle. Tristan put it down to the changed scenery. The managers just hoped it would be finished in time to take over Il Muto before it was costing them more than it earned. It may have been the sort of thing the public loved two years ago, but times had changed and now it wasn't even opera that they were showing, but a musical! They had to admit though, that it was the sort of tragic love story that would see people standing in the back of the house to watch.

They had organised to advertise for the performance two days before it opened. Surely the ghost would not read the papers? They would make sure Christine stopped him, anyway. They weren't going to take him until the identity of Death's Henchwoman was revealed, sure as they were that Christine Daae could get anything from the Opera Ghost. They hadn't counted on a promise made between the two spectres though…

The opera's latest star, a girl who couldn't actually sing opera, trilled through the cadenza at the end of Think of Me. The damned ghost knew a thing or two about casting in any case. Their leading lady shone as bright as the Swarovski crystals on her gown.

_(Erik: You're so vain Authoress: Just cause you don't shine like a Swarovski crystal! Erik: Niether do you. Authoress: Details, details…)_


	41. Melancholy Moment

**Chapter 41: Melancholy Moment**

Standing on balcony outside Nadir's private study in a bright red gown very much like one that would be worn in a movie of the 21st century (guess which) Sam stared up at the bright full moon that seemed to regard her with pity in its cold gaze.

"Why did it have to happen?" She whispered. "Why does it all have to go wrong like this?" Her eyes closed as a strong cold breeze swept through the sky, ruffling the satin bow on the back of her dress. (Have you figured it out yet?)

They opened full of tears, she wanted so desperately to make Christine pay, force Erik to see what was going on… but she couldn't! Much as she hoped he had some sort of regard for her after three months together, she was sure he wouldn't think twice about harming her if she tried to make Christine out to be the evil backstabbing cow she was.

Her frown deepened as she considered what might happen to opening night of Phantom. Erik was sure to be there… watching her play Christine… the thought made her nauseous with nerves. Her small part in Il Muto, now that had been fine. But a full production in which she played the star with people chatting openly about her struggle over the highest notes of the bigger songs? Dread in the shape of a Punjab lasso hung above her head ominously. A pair of sparrows swooped by trilling, breaking her from her reverie.

"Damn it!" Erik roared, kicking a footstool.

"What is it, Erik darling?" Christine asked, only mildly surprised by his outburst.

"It's not working!"

"What isn't?"

"I was trying to draw you asleep last night because you looked, well, angelic really. But…"

"But what?" Christine asked, hiding revulsion that he had been watching her sleep.

"It doesn't look like you. It looks like…" he turned the charcoal sketch around.

"HER!"

_I follow the night  
Cant stand the light  
When will I begin  
To live again…_

One Day I'll fly away  
Leave all this to yesterday  
What more could your love do for me?  
When will love be through with me?

Why live life from dream to dream?  
And dread the day when dreaming ends…  
One day I'll fly away  
Leave all this to yesterday  
Why live life from dream to dream?  
And dread the day when dreaming ends

One day I'll fly away  
Fly, fly away…  
"Mademoiselle?" Nadir's shadowed figure appeared in the doorway. "Come inside, it is going to rain soon."

"Get me an umbrella and a blanket, I'll be fine." Nadir looked at her in confusion.

"A blanket and an umbrella?"

" I like to sit under shelter wrapped in a blanket when it rains. Is that wierd?" Nadir hesitated.

"I wonder, would you like some company? It seems that you need to talk. Erik's behaviour was almost betrayal- knowing full well that he was your only protection from a world far removed from your own, he brushed you off in favour of Christine without so much as a care." Sam smiled faintly.

"He stopped by a couple of days ago. It was awkward to say the least." She hesitated. "I guess I was fooling myself, thinking I could stay there, loving him… and not having it returned."

"He is, or at least was very fond of you." Nadir patted her on the shoulder. "I will get you what you ask for."


	42. The Night Before Opening Night

**Chapter 42: The Night Before Opening Night**

"Oh God." Sam moaned before leaning over the toilet bowl again.

"What on Earth is wrong with her?" Darius asked, faintly disgusted.

"Nerves." Nadir answered wryly, holding her long brown hair back.

"Should I call for a doctor?"

"No, it will pass."

"But if she's like this now, what will she be like tomorrow?" Both Darius and Nadir shuddered inwardly.

"Just because I'm emptying my stomach of everything I've eaten for a year doesn't mean I can't hear you." Sam said irritably.

"Well, you just get back to doing that. Darius, can you please go and make a beef broth for her to sip at."

"Why? She'll just throw it all up again."

"Maybe not. And after she's had that, I think honey and lemon tea to soothe her throat so she can still sing."

"After all, there's no understudy and I made… them promise… if I wasn't there we weren't performing…ooh, carrot!"

Nadir snorted. It was disgusting, but funny at the same time to him. She grinned up weakly, wiping her mouth with a towel which Nadir decided would be burnt. It wouldn't do to be drying anything with a towel that had been used to wipe vomit. Another wave of nausea hit her and she turned away.

"I feel better now." (Pauses to appreciate Sixth Sense moment)

"Good. Very good. Go and change into a clean nightgown and I'll… have Darius wash the dress tonight."

"It's ok, I hate this dress." She glared down at the hideous periwinkle blue and sugary lilac dress. "Burn it."

"As you wish." He helped her stand, one hand under her elbow and saw her off to her room.

Soon, Darius brought her the broth and the three sat in Nadir's study, the next night's performance on their minds.

"You know that it is very likely he will turn his wrath on you when he sees what is being performed, don't you?" Nadir said, laying a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"I do." She answered, dropping her head. "But I think I'll be okay if I have people around me at all times."

"That's a very good idea… Madame Giry and one of the costumers would be best." Darius told her, nodding.

"What about Christine? What will she do, so you think?" Sam frowned.

"Well, besides staring blankly through her bug eyes, I really think this might make her angry." She smiled nastily as she said this and the others were reminded of a satisfied lioness. The bells began to toll outside, ten o clock.

"You had best be off to bed, mademoiselle. Tomorrow night will be a triumph." Nadir said kindly. She walked away and his smile faltered. "Or else a very great disaster."


	43. Long Awaited Revenge

**Chapter 43: Long Awaited Revenge**

Sam arrived in Nadir's carriage four hours before the performance was supposed to begin. She had to war up both physically and vocally, have a final rehearsal and get dressed for the first act. The nerves of the previous night were all but gone, only the slightest fluttering in her stomach remaining.

"Tristan!" She called, hailing down the tall actor. He rushed over, escaping the flock of make up women struggling to make one side of his handsome face a hideous mess of warped skin with their thick, cakey browns and reds.

"I think that's meant to be more yellowed… more like the skin of the dead." Sam told them.

"That's what the instructions said… but it doesn't work that colour, he just looks like he has jaundice!" One complained. Sam shrugged and turned to Tristan.

"Can you cover for me? There's … something I have to do." Without another word, she spun and ran off, ignoring Tristan's bewildered questions.

Soft music played from within Erik's room, accompanied by Christine's crystal clear tones following the scales. It was broken off suddenly and she giggled.

"Erik, please!" she protested. Sam's fists clenched in rage and misery and she pounded on Erik's writing desk, hitting a mirror. It shattered beneath her hand, slicing her fingers. Bright red blood welled up on the tips and she swore loudly, sucking on her thumb, cut the worst.

Realising how loud she had been, she looked up to Erik's door. The music had started again, unnoticing and she sighed with relief then looked to her bloody hand. A drip of red on white paper made her look to the organ and smile ruthlessly. She crossed to it and stared at the white keys, which had felt every emotion Erik had through the pressure of his fingers. She touched one, leaving a bright red stain. An idea crossed her mind and she almost laughed, her original plan of ripping the Christine sketches into confetti replaced by something far more evil.

With painstaking care, she ran her fingers over the keys, re cutting her fingers with a shard of the mirror when the blood stopped flowing. When she was finished, she looked back over her work.

To break a woman's heart is to stain one's soul with her lifeblood gleamed red from the white in her neat writing. With a grim smile and a curse at the pain from her shredded fingers, she ran.

"Samantha! What happened to you?" Tristan cried in horror when he saw her, still in her dressing gown.

"Is this a comment on my looks or these?" She asked, holding up her hands, which had been gently cleaned but still stung.

"Your fingers, of course!" He exclaimed, pulling her closer to him so that he could inspect the damage.

"I fell in the chapel and cut my fingers on the candle stand" She lied smoothly, pulling her hands from his grip. "And I have to go, that music is my cue!" The overture roared through the house, drawing the ballet rats and young star to the stage.

It was Christine who spotted the blood first. She, predictably, screamed at the top of her lungs and buried her face in Erik's chest.

"What is it…" he trailed off as he saw the trail of red across his organ. "Fucking hell!" He screamed, running forward.

"To break a woman's heart is to stain one's soul with her lifeblood? What on Earth is that supposed to mean?" He shouted.

"Her heart? Broken?" Christine murmured, frowning deeply. "I know who it was…"

"Who? What damned fool dared to desecrate my organ?"

"One whose heart has recently been broken by… by you… Erik, did you ever notice that she loved you?"

"Who?"

"Samantha."

"She dared do this?" He roared. "I'll KILL HER!" And he stood there, fuming over the organ.

"All right, all right, enough foolishness, Mademoiselle, Monsieur de Puppeteer, over here!" Reyer called, beckoning. Sam followed the tall, gay muse with a lopsided grin. Screwing up in practise was fun- she had succeeded in turning Reyer's face the deepest shade of purple possible without causing a coronary numerous times just by smiling at the wrong time. Could she help it if the sight of Adi's gay muse leaning in to pretend to kiss her was beyond hilarious!

"Now, it is the night of our performance, please, please, at least try not to destroy this song?" Reyer pleaded. Sam flashed him her cheekiest grin.

"Oh, I'll try."

"Good." Reyer took his place in front of the orchestra and struck his baton sharply. "Attention, monsieurs." He snapped. Sam and Jacques shared an eyeroll.

"You know, darling, if you'd just let me take you down to this little hairdresser's that I know, we could get some beautiful blonde streaks in your hair, then if I could get you into one of those adorable new pleated miniskirts…"

"Jacques?"

"Hmm?"

"Not a chance, darl." His mouth turned downwards into a pout beneath his large nose. He tossed his hair indignantly and Sam grinned. "Sorry, but that only works on your own authoress."

The lead in to All I Ask of You began and they rushed to their positions. Jacques began his slow walk forward, hugging Sam a little tighter than she wanted around the middle as revenge for not following his make over plans, then took her hand and led her forward. In case of slip ups, Madame Giry tapped along with her cane. Unwillingly, Sam dropped the rose tied with a black ribbon in her hand.

No more talk of darkness  
Forget these wide eyed fears Jacques poked her shoulder gently, not exactly what the choreography asked for, but he wasn't exactly caring right then. He let the hand fall, wrapping around her arm.  
I'm here, nothing can harm you  
My words will warm and calm you

Let me be your freedom  
Let daylight dry your tears He cupped her cheek, wiping at non existent tears.  
I'm here with you beside you Sam tried unsuccessfully to hide a grin as Jacques began punctuating his words with eyebrow raises and tilts of his head. He was getting into the song.  
To guard you and to guide you.

As her line came up, Sam tried (and succeeded this time) in capturing the drug hazed smiled displayed by Emmy Rossum as she sang it.  
Say you'll love me every waking moment  
Turn my head with talk of summertime  
Say you'll need me with you now and always  
Promise me that all you say is true  
That's all I ask of you

Let me be your shelter Jacques launched a spontaneous, frightening hug on her, resulting in a collision of heads. Reyer scowled but didn't interrupt for once.  
Let me be your light  
You're safe, no one will find you  
Your fears are far behind you  
Once again, Jacques began leading Sam forward, she tripped over her own bare feet.

"Mademoiselle Dowling, is it truly that difficult for you to remain in time for two minutes?" Reyer snapped.

"No. It's that difficult for me to remain in time for 30 seconds." She snapped in return.

. "Mademoiselle, please! The performance is only an hour away and you are fooling around like you don't care! Maybe I should just have you replaced now!" There was a giant, collective gasp from everyone near. Most knew of the requests made by Death's Henchwoman under threat of snakes and feared her retribution. The threat of a live tiger in the theatre wasn't appealing.

"Careful, Reyer. The ghost'll have your head on a platter for that." Madame Giry said sharply. Reyer looked at her in horror and turned to the performers.

"At the start of Christine's line then." He stuttered.

All I want is freedom (as she walked away, looking depressed and frightened, just like a stupid gerbil girl would…)  
A world with no more night  
And you always beside me (line accompanied by a turn and weird half smile. Excuse me, please, because this song is making me nauseous I'm just going to write actions in brackets unless I have to do it other ways.)  
To hold me and to hide me

Then say you'll share with me one love one lifetime (Jacques began to lead her around by both hands, turning her this way and that, like a showpony being pranced around.)  
Let me lead you from your solitude  
Say you need me with you here beside you (a hug from behind, Jacques nearly choked on a flyaway section of hair)  
Anywhere you go let me go too (He began to twist the offending strands, imagining how good they would look in a blonde streaked perm.)  
Christine, that's all I ask of you

Say you'll share with me one love one lifetime  
Say the word and I will follow you

Share each day with me each night each morning

Say you love me

You know I do

Love me, that's all I ask of you

The music spiralled nauseatingly (can you tell how ill I feel now?) and they leaned towards each other, tilting their heads so it looked like they were kissing but weren't. Instead, they were breathing on each other's cheeks, each trying to make the other laugh by whispering in their ear.

"Reyer's had a perm"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Are you blow waving your hair for tonight?"

"Maybe. Are you?"

"Nope. Wouldn't go too well with my slave outfit."

On cue, he picked her up as if she was indeed the twig girl she was playing and swung her around. Personally, Sam would've preferred a more 16 Going On 17 circular motion, on his hip with her legs out to the side, but the ballet mistress had refused, commenting that while it may be allright in times post 1960, it was not in the 1870's. When confronted with the argument that this was a theatre and therefore morals were irrelevant, she sent her former assistant off to practise the Hannibal ballet.

Anywhere you go, let me go too (came the line shouted, yes, literally shouted, in each other's faces. It was a thing that Sam saw as so clichéd that it had to be done and Jacques just thought it was cute)  
Love me, that's all I ask of you… They finished with a second fake kiss, and a hug.

"Oh, I suppose that will do." Reyer said grudgingly, with a nod. Sam grinned.

"Only in trouble once today? Disappointing. I hoped to break my record."

"Which was?" Jacques asked.

"Thirty seven" Sam answered proudly.


	44. Sam Gets To Be A Diva

**Chapter 44: Sam Gets to Be A Diva!**  
_Long live the stage version of Phantom! Which I've never seen!_

Samantha was sitting at the vanity table in her dressing room, brushing more blush onto her cheeks as she stared at her pale face in the mirror. Suddenly her flamboyantly gay co star Jacques stuck his head around the door, "Sammy?" he trilled swishing in. Samantha was slightly disturbed by the fact that he seemed to look completely natural with his hair highlighted blonde and in a ruffled Fabio shirt, and even worse, make it look good. _(Jacques: It's all in the style darling. Authoress: Shut up Jacques)_  
"Hello Jacques," she sighed, trying not to laugh as the gay male fluttered around her and kissed her cheeks. "Present for you!"  
Sam looked up in surprise, "Who'd send me anything?" she asked. From behind his back, Jacques whipped out a wild bunch of flowers. "Chookas from Adi!"  
"What? How'd she do that?"  
"Oh via me of course, actually they're from everyone. She likes to keep an eye on her subjects, and just couldn't let you go on stage without wishing you luck, there's a card too."  
For some reason, Sam was outrageously happy to know at least one of her friends hadn't forgotten her, though she still had reserves about Jacques. Like the time he didn't think Sam was fainting properly into Tristan's arms and had taken over the rehearsal and Sam's place, and tried to convince Tristan to carry him to bed.  
Sam dropped her brush and accepted the flowers, looking at them oddly. It was without doubt one of the strangest bouquets ever created. Nine single flowers nestled in a strange array of eucalyptus and fern branches and all held together by poking them through the top of a shining cheesegrater clashed strangely in a riot of colour. Jacques perched himself on the edge of her vanity, grinning happily.  
"The poppy is from Holmes," he explained, rolling his eyes, "Poor Adi is having to fight very hard to break him of his habits."  
Sam sniffed the poppy hesitantly, then looked at the rest of the flowers.  
"Shaun sent you the apple blossom and dandelions, the purple violets are from Dracula, the moonbloom is from Liedro, and the pink and white spotted rose is from her Erik…"  
Sam shifted uncomfortably.  
"He kind of thought you might be getting too many black tied red ones already. Kolper tried to give you seaweed but Adibug put her foot down (it might have been slightly more impressive if she'd been wearing shoes you know) and said that would stink the whole room out, so he gave you a bit of coral instead."  
It was a very nice piece of coral, actually, Sam noted.  
"Anywho darling, Julian sent the forget-me-nots, Adi sent you the orange tigerlily and the pink gerbera is from me."  
"And the gum leaves?"  
"Those were in case you get homesick,"  
"Oh," Sam tugged out the red envelope from the middle of the flowers and broke the seal, grinning slightly as she saw the wax seal had DBCA printed in it in ornate lettering. She pulled the card out and laughed outright at the real miniature black cloak superglued to the front, then opened it and read the letter.  
"Dear Sam.  
First off, Chookas and good luck!  
I'm already considering our audiences socks, stockings or lack thereof officially rocked in advance for your fabulous performance. Just generally flout flaunt and show off and you'll do great. If you need it the cheesegrater is at your command, and if you need the rest of us...well you know what to do.  
Slap Erik a time or two for me (or Christine on Erik's behalf if you like). Keep an eye on Jacques, if he gets out of hand, feel free to improvise on a punishment (steal his nailpolish!) And finally and formally from the TW to the DHW I am both impressed and proud, you do yourself credit.  
The DBCA and the muses would like to say a general We Love You.

WE LOVE YOU SAM!

See?

So one last time break a leg and remember. Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one. - Albert Einstein.  
Peace,   
Love,  
Cloaks,  
Adibug (And Julian and Shaun and Erik and Liedro and Kolper and Dracula and Holmes and Jacques)"

Sam pondered the meaning of the last sentence as she put the card down. Jacques was pondering whether to wear pink purple or glitter nailpolish as he put Sam's brush down. Both heaved a sigh of mental defeat and Jacques looked up, "Well sweetie, hope you liked, I better skedaddle back to makeup!" he kissed her cheeks and shimmied out again.  
Sam watched as the chandelier rose, wishing that she hadn't chosen the slave outfits of Hannibal from the movie. Self conscious of her stomach, she stood in the wings with her arms crossed over it, cursing her stupidity. The other girls ran on, in the act of giggling and gossiping. She followed and hid behind one of them. Carlotta, in her shining entry to the performance, went straight into her piercing high note as the overture ended.

_This trophy!  
From our saviours!  
From the enslaving force  
Of Rome!_

A stagehand carried a ladder across the stage as the chorus of women and men joined those on stage, singing proudly. The audience members tittered, having seen this many times before. Hannibal was not new. They had been promised new and unseen. Already the incredible overture had been forgotten!

Sam fell out of step with the dancers not at all on purpose. Box five was empty! It was really empty! No Erik, no Christine! Maybe he wouldn't come tonight after all?

Madame Giry banged her cane twice. "You! Christine Daaé! Pay attention girl!"

"Christine… What's the matter?" Meg asked. It was giving her an awful sense of déjà vu. Sam struggled through the ballet, never having been a very good dancer _(Authoress :I was kicked out of ballet classes at age four and a half. Nuff said)_  
"Oh please Erik, let's go! I hear that there is a new production on tonight! Meg Giry told me!" Christine begged. He looked up hopefully.

"No more Il Muto?"

"No. Something new, apparently. Never before performed!" Erik rushed for his cloak.

"Mozart? Gonoud? A new season of Faust?"

"No, some Englishman… Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber." Erik paused for a moment, frowning.

"Never heard of him." They climbed into the gondola and Erik began to pole away from his lair.

_…Think of me, think of me waking  
Silent and resigned  
Imagine me, trying too hard  
To put you from my mind!_

Recall those days, look back on all those times  
Think of the things we'll never do.  
There will never be a day  
When I won't think of you!

The music spiralled around Sam as she smiled faintly out on the audience. They had stopped fluttering their fans, this new voice pulling them out of their gossiping. A new face! They checked their programs. The new confidante in Il Muto? But she had never showed any hint of this voice! Those who knew a little more about music than others saw that she was completely untrained and wondered what on earth the managers were doing but others saw her as a perfect player of Miss Daaé.

_We never said our love was evergreen  
Or as unchanging as the sea!  
But if you can still remember  
Stop and think…_

She began the cadenza carefully, easily making it… and then not at all. Oh, this is a great time for my voice to give out on me, isn't it? She thought sarcastically before taking the deepest breath she possibly could and pushing the air out in one long final note

Of me!

The audience applauded as she took her bow and the curtain closed upstage. The ballet rats and madame Giry wandered on to the stage.

"Yes, you did well. He will be pleased." Madame Giry said, giving her a quick, wry smile. Both knew that was unlikely.

"And you!" She shouted at her dancers, "You were a disgrace tonight! Such _ronds de jambe_! Such _temps de cuisse_! Here- we rehearse, Now!"

Sam began to wander downstage, Meg following. Suddenly, Tristan's powerful baritone swept over them from above.

_Bravi! Bravi! Bravissimi!_

Where in the world have you been hiding?  
Really you were perfect!  
I only wish I knew your secret!  
Who is this new tutor?

Sam gave her the distracted smile her script asked for and launched into the song she was best at of the entire lot.

_Father once spoke of an angel  
I used to dream he'd appear  
Now as I sing I can sense him  
And I know he's here!_

Here in this room he calls me softly  
Somewhere inside, hiding  
Somehow I know he's always with me  
He, the unseen genius

Meg gave her the worried look she had given Christine. Sam's glazed eyes and trance-like voice were reminding her of things she had experienced for real.

_Christine you must have been dreaming  
Stories like this can't come true  
Christine you're talking in riddles  
And it's not like you…_

"What's this?" Erik asked, peering over the balcony of Box Five.

"Meg? Singing?" Christine's jaw dropped. "And who on Earth is that?"

_Angel of Music, guide and guardian!  
Grant to me your glory!_

"Samantha" he hissed to himself as Meg sang Who is this Angel, this…

_Angel of Music, hide no longer,_  
_Secret and strange Angel!_

He's with me even now

Your hands are cold

All around me

Your face, Christine, it's white!

It frightens me

Don't be frightened…

"Oh you should be!" Erik growled furiously.

"Erik! Just leave her! She'll make a fool of herself, I just know it! You don't need to do anything." Christine whispered snappily. He frowned deeply and sat back, trying to remember why exactly he hadn't brought his lasso.

Sam struggled her way through Little Lotte, barely able to keep from killing the poor man forced into the role of the Vicomte. She was sure she saw Raoul in his box, grinning from ear to ear that he was in the performance.

The Mirror scene, however, was easy. Something about singing the part where she actually got to take the hand through the mirror… but it wasn't the same. For proper effects, it really needed to be Erik. Still, Tristan's moody scowl was very, very convincing…

_In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came  
That voice which calls to me, and speaks my name  
And do I dream again, for now I find  
The Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind!_

Sam felt a little uneasy. It was through singing this song that her entire journey had begun. Would it end it? She hoped not.

_Sing once again with me our strange duet  
My power over you grows stronger yet  
And though you turn from me to glance behind  
The Phantom of the Opera is there inside your mind!_

Tristan scowled down at her, she had turned away, her gaze was in the shadows of Box Five. So the Phantom really was on her mind! Well, he, Tristan Matthews was not the type to let such a slight do anything but improve his performance… he squeezed her hand to remind her of her cue and she frowned. She knew when to sing dammit!

_Those who have seen your face draw back in fear  
I am the mask you wear_

Its me they hear

Your spirit and my voice in one combined!  
The Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind!

The audience watched on as if spellbound. The girl pushed herself to hold her notes when they got right up high, putting all her heart and soul into every syllable. Tristan Matthews, whom many had not previously liked, was a force of unspeakable sensuality. More than one young betrothed bride watched in stunned awe as the cloaked phantom on the stage drew the young girl onwards through the dry ice.

_In all your fantasies you always knew that man and mystery_

Where both in you

And in this labyrinth (mm, Labyrinth) where night is blind  
The Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind

The eerie, echoing voices of the chorus rose all around causing shivers up Sam's spine, as she started her difficult climb to the peak of the song… Erik, in the safety of his box, cringed, hoping and praying that she didn't destroy the moment that had been so carefully built up.

The final note sailed over the house, shaky but right. Sam smiled to herself, imagining the deep scowl on Christine's face. She wasn't far wrong in her imagining… she had Christine's frown about half a centimetre less curved than it was.

_I have brought you…_

Erik groaned. "Oh no. God no." He sighed. "I didn't do anything to deserve this punishment!"

_Night time sharpens,  
Heightens each sensation…_


	45. The Second Act

**Chapter 45: The Second Act.**  
_(Red Death is so very easy to write while listening to Slept So Long from Queen of the Damned)_

Masquerade! Grinning yellows spinning reds!  
Masquerade!  
Take your fill- let the spectacle astound you!

It wasn't just the cast who screamed when Tristan appeared decked out in Gerry's Red Death costume, complete with black eye make up and skullish mask. Sam merely grinned in appreciation of the skills of the costume department. In Box Five, Erik was recovering from his terrible chest pains and just stared at this mockery of his Red Death costume- where was the billowing cloak? Idiots. Well, he should say idiot, seeing it was all the hairbrained scheme of his former houseguest.

_Why so silent, good messieurs?_ Tristan purred. Erik had to admit, he did that well.  
_Did you think that I had left you for good?  
Have you missed me good messieurs?  
I have written you an opera!  
Here I bring the finished score-  
Don Juan Triumphant!_ A black folio found it's way into the hands of the actor playing Andre, who had captured the fearful look perfectly.

_I advise you to comply-  
My instruction should be clear-  
Remember there are worse things than a shattered chandelier…_

Above in their box, the managers shuddered. It reminded them of Death Henchwoman's frightening snake riddled requests to hear that again. Sam, mesmerised by the deep growl, became prominent in the crowd, the skirt of her voluminous pink masquerade dress scraping along the boards with a barely audible _shhriik, shhrikk_.

Tristan's eyes locked on her and, like Erik before him, he was astounded by the figure before him. The pale, reddish quality of the lighting made her appear dreamlike, like one of the faerie figures his Welsh friend's grandmother used to talk about… dark and mysterious…creatures from some infinite darkness he would never be a part of. Swallowing the slight lump in his throat he stepped forward. Sam came one step closer, seemingly under the same spell but he assumed that was more because of his character, knowing as he did how she had looked so hopefully to Box Five.

They came together, Sam struggling to breathe. Not only was her corset very tight, but Tristan was such a presence in the Red Death costume! It was almost like approaching Erik, the aura was so darkly appealing… he wrenched the necklace holding an engagement ring from her throat and she remembered a practise day when Jacques had given the ring to Tristan on bended knee. The memory kept her from crying out in pain as she had countless times before as the chain broke on the back of her neck. No twine for her, they had insisted on a REAL chain. And it hurt.

_Your chains are still mine- you will sing for me!_ In a sulphurous cloud of smoke, Tristan disappeared down a trapdoor in the stage. The curtain closed and they stagehands ran to fix the stage for the next scene, where Raoul and Madame Giry spoke. Sam was rushed off stage and taken by two costumers to be changed into her next costume, one she'd designed herself as a little addition to the hefty number of costumes already needing to be made.

A slight brunette figure followed her, slipping into the dressing room as the door was closing. Sam was being pushed and prodded into the practise outfit, a loose shirt with a leather bodice around her middle and a long skirt, jagged edged with bells on some of the points. Her soft slippers were replaced with ankle boots bearing piratey fold over cuffs. It had nothing to do with Don Juan and Sam loved it.

"Miss Samantha?" A hesitant voice called from the doorway. She looked up from the lacing process currently being applied at her stomach and scowled.

"You!" Christine cringed.

"Me. And I deserve that scowl and more, I suppose."

"Damn right you do! Do you have any idea how much this is going to hurt him when he finds out? You're killing him!" Again, Christine cringed.

"You really did- do love him, don't you, Death's Henchwoman?" Sam sighed silently and thanked god that she was being dressed by two mostly deaf women.

"Yes. And don't call me that here, these two may be mostly deaf but they hear everything they aren't supposed to." Christine's frown was replaced momentarily by a triumphant smile.

"Don't get too happy, though I must congratulate you on figuring out two things about me from one blatantly obvious clue." Christine's brow furrowed for a moment and Sam took the chance to strike.

"When were you planning on telling him you stupid piece of fish liver?" She snapped. "Or were you just going to go shopping for a day and let the gendarmes in to shoot him to pieces?"

"They wouldn't!" Christine gasped, horrified.

"I have access to police files, you idiot, I know their plans." Sam growled. Christine was suddenly silent.

"Now, I noticed you disappeared when All I Ask of You started up. I'm guessing you did a little Box-hopping?"

"No!" Christine protested. "I went up to the roof…" Sam's face twisted into an expression of violent disgust, prompting her to shut her mouth quickly.

"Smart move, Daae. I would've snapped your neck if you'd given any more details than what are blatantly obvious on your face." Sam grimaced as if tasting something foul. "Are you going to tell Erik?"

"He'd kill Raoul!" Sam blinked.

"So? Where's the problem in that?" It was Christine's turn to blink, albeit in horror more than anything else. After a moment, she sighed and shook her head.

"I know you and your friends don't like Raoul very much, but I happen to love him." She said, voice shaking with anger. The strength of every syllable shocked Sam. "We've had our differences in the past…" Christine lifted up a chunk of hair shorter than the rest, prompting a memory of a well oiled bladed glove hidden under a chaise lounge in this very room. "And we still do. But please, don't make fun of him now."

"Oh, I'm complimenting him. I have one of the best tenors out there playing him, one who shares the characters love of cherry lip gloss and fashion."

"How did you know about the lip gloss?" Christine demanded and Sam looked at her glossed nails.

"DBCAian, my dear, I know everything I'd ever want to know about you and your foppish lover boy." The response seemed to frighten Christine more than reassure her.

"You're going to have to go back up to Erik, pretend like you never went near Raoul, even when he asks you about whether or not you've seen him, why you took so long getting back. If you can tell that many lies you deserve to meet the cheesegrater I was provided with earlier tonight." Sam picked it up from an odd bunch of flowers. "Say a word about that, a gift from a dear friend, and I'll pluck your eyeballs out." She growled, seeing a comment lingering on Christine's lips. The former diva's jaw dropped and she snapped her mouth shut suddenly. The new diva's snarling voice reminded her of something… she still had it written somewhere… You chose a timorous, shrinking mouse on which to lavish your passionate devotion when, if God was loving, you should by rights have had a splendid young lioness! And here she was, glaring jealously down on her!

"Now go back to Erik." Sam demanded, ignoring the sharp tug at her heart at saying those words. "I'm going to be late."

With that, she shooed the petite brunette away, rushing to the stage area, getting there just in time to take Jacques's arm and glide onto the stage.

_Ah, here's our little flower_ Carlotta spat right on cue.

Christine appeared beside the shadow in Box Five and Sam's attention rejoined the stage.


	46. Decision Time

**Chapter 46: Decision Time**

Erik fidgeted miserably during Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again and Wandering Child. Christine was hiding something from him, something that he dared not guess at. Any thought on the subject made his hand fly to his heart as it contracted. As he watched the young girl on stage, noticing even from his great height the tears on her face as she put every ounce of her developing talent into the final verse of Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again, he wondered what could cause her to cry.

_Wishing you were somehow here again!  
Knowing we must say goodbye!  
Try to forgive, teach me to live!  
Give me the strength to try!_

No more memories  
No more silent tears  
No more gazing across the wasted years

Help me say goodbye…

As she collapsed to her knees, the final line came like a prayer.

_Help me say goodbye…_

Sam knew that Christine would turn her into the police at the next opportunity. It was what she was being paid to do. So distraught by the thought of Christine's ultimate betrayal of Erik- killing him - she barely noticed the beginning of her favourite song- one she had truly sung with Erik. Remembering that night, she lifted her voice above her terror and misery, which was being mistaken by the audience as a true understanding of the role. The blurring of her own mascara had caused more than one pair of running eyeliners.

_Wandering child so lost, so helpless  
Yearning for my guidance_

Angel or father, friend or phantom  
Who is it there, staring?  
_Have you forgotten your angel?_ Erik found himself murmuring along forlornly. She had sung of farewells and he realised as her melancholy voice rose to him- him alone- once more, he didn't want her gone from his life. The little organ-desecrater meant a little something to him after all…

_Angel oh speak, what endless longings  
Echo in this whisper!_

At the side of the stage, Jacques appeared in his leather jacket, a theatrical frown on his face

_Too long you've wandered in winter  
Far from my fathering gaze…_ Erik felt a twinge of annoyance at this Tristan Matthews. This was his song! Not some pretty baritone from near Wales, it belonged to Erik the Phantom of the Opera. And so he would remind them of that fact with a few well used tricks.

_Once again she is his…_ Jacques sang. _Once again she returns…_

_Wildly my mind beats against you_ Sam's voice turned defiant

_You resist… _

_Yet the soul obeys!_ It was Erik's voice who joined Sam's and she noticed the vocal change immediately. Her eyes lit up and she seemed to gain new life.

_Angel of music, I denied you!  
Turning from true beauty!  
Angel of music, my protector!  
Come to me strange angel!_

Erik almost fell out of his chair at the strength of the passion in her voice on the last line. Just as strong as Erik's bewilderment was Jacques's indignation at being forgotten during the song and Tristan's resentment at being overtaken by he knew exactly who.

_I am your angel of music…  
Come to me angel of music…_ he was left alone to sing that and he glanced up into the shadows of Box Five, still unable to see anyone but Christine Daae up there. Not even a shadow against the back wall.

"Christine!" Jacques cried, moving out of his shadows and rolling his eyes up at the balcony where he knew Erik to be sitting. Trust an Erik to cause sensation every time…

"Christine, listen to me! What ever you may believe, this man, this…" he paused for a second. "man, is not your father!" He turned to the pile of skulls concealing Tristan and called. "Let her go! For God's sake let her go! Christine!" Sam turned, barely recognising the name she was going by.

"Raoul?" She ran to Adi's muse, using his hug to pull her back to reality. Her feet barely touched the ground, Erik's voice was still running through her veins at blinding speed. Tristan appeared, mask loose so that a section of the gore the costumers had created was visible to the others on stage.

"Bravo, monsieur, such spirited words!" He called, thinking as the power of theatre sent a fireball from the mouth of a piked skull that he held, that he should have gone into musical theatre instead of opera.

"More tricks, monsieur?" Jacques said sharply, one arm still protectively around Sam's shoulders.

"Let's see, monsieur how far you dare go!" Tristan mocked.

"More deception? Ore violence?" Jacques replied, flipping his long ponytail in a way that nearly made Raoul above them cheer aloud. Another fireball flew and he stepped forward jauntily.

"j- Raoul, no!" Sam called, blushing beneath her stage makeup at the slip up that no one else noticed. Jacques had become even more flamboyant in his walk, puffing his chest out and holding his head high, drawing some giggles from younger audience members.

"That's right, that's right, monsieur- keep walking this way!"

"You can't win her love by making her your prisoner."

"Raoul, don't…" Sam was about to succumb to her overriding desire to laugh at Jacques.

"Stay back!" He called gallantly.

"I'm here, I'm here, monsieur: the angel of death! Come on, come on, monsieur, don't stop, don't stop!"

"They're making me sound like a poncing fop." Erik muttered darkly.

"They are not." Christine replied. Below, Jacques had reached Tristan but looked more like he'd try to kiss him than attack him.

"Raoul! Come back!" Sam called, grabbing Jacques's arm and pulling him away forcefully. "No. Bad Jacques." She muttered as they ran across the stage.

"Don't go!" There was a note of despair in Tristan's deep, booming voice.

"So be it! Now, let it be war upon you both!" Erik looked up from his knees.

"So be it." He stood up and left.


	47. Yet Another Plot Twist

**Chapter 47: Yet Another Plot Twist **

The dissonant cacophony of sound that was the introduction of Don Juan spiralled around the theatre. The audience fidgeted slightly, knowing that the end was near now. It had been during the performance of Don Juan that the terrible story of the Opera Ghost, who many now felt a great deal of pity for, had ended.

_Here the sire may serve the dam,  
Here the master takes his meat!  
Here the sacrificial lamb  
Utters one despairing bleat!_

Poor young maiden! For the thrill  
On your tongue of stolen sweets  
You will have to pay the bill-  
Tangled in the winding sheets!

Serve the meal and serve the maid!  
Serve the master so that when  
Tables, plans and maids are laid,  
Don Juan triumphs once again!

The rotund tenor in the role of Signor Piangi came onto the stage, accompanied by Passarino. Meg pirouetted across the stage, whipping her skirt around and showing her legs like a can-can dancer.

_Passarino faithful friend!  
Once again recite the plan_

Your young guest believes I'm you-  
I the master, you the man

Side stage, Sam swallowed a wave of nervous energy. The beautiful Aminta costume was laced tightly onto her, a vibrant red rose in her hair. This was a moment she had longed for, she'd wanted so much to sing the song that was barely minutes away.

_When you met you wore my cloak,  
With my scarf you hid your face.  
She believes she dines with me  
In her master's borrowed place!  
Furtively, we'll scoff and quaff  
Stealing what, in truth, is mine  
When it's late and modesty  
Starts to mellow with the wine…_

You come home I use your voice  
Slam the door like crack of doom!

Sam tuned out as "Piangi' began again, looking up into Box Five. Christine was alone, and sharing loving looks with Raoul in the opposing Box Two.

_Here's my hat my cloak and sword, conquest is assured  
If I do not forget myself and laugh!_

He walked off laughing falsely and Sam started forward. She paused for a second just within the curtain.

"Madame Giry, Erik's not in his Box." She said, sounding hurt. She rushed forward, singing.

_No thoughts within her head  
But thoughts of joy  
No dreams within her heart but dreams of love!_

Master? Passarino bowed.

_Passarino…_ the word was hissed sensuously, like a tongue of fire.

_Go away for the trap is set and waits for it's prey…_

You have come here  
In pursuit of your deepest urge  
In pursuit of that wish which til now  
Has been silent  
Silent…

Sam sat staring at her hands as her heart beat faster. Tristan had been working on his tone… it sounded almost like…

Erik.

_I have brought you  
That our passions may fuse and merge  
In your mind you've already succumbed to me  
Dropped all defences,  
Completely succumbed to me-  
Now you are here with me, no second thoughts,  
You've decided  
Decided…_ Sam shivered at the sinister growl he adopted. Decided on what? She thought, I never decided anything yet!

_Past the point of no return  
No backward glances  
Our games of make believe are at an end… _(sorry, I just love the way Gerry performs that line… swoons)  
_Past all thought of 'if' or 'when'  
No use resisting  
Abandon thought and let the dream descend…_

_What raging fire shall flood the soul?_ His cold thin hand rasped across her throat, pulling her momentarily against him.  
_What rich desire unlocks it's door  
What sweet seduction lies before us?_

_Past the point of no return  
The final threshold!  
what warm unspoken secrets will we learn?  
Beyond the point of no return…_

Sam shook visibly with the utter shock of having Erik on stage. Had he killed Tristan? Why was he here? To get her back for making this performance happen? A deep sigh escaped her as she hit her cue, still shaking at the prospect of Erik-ish revenge and the prospect of singing Point of No Return with the real Erik.

_You have brought me  
To that moment when words run dry  
To that moment when speech disappears  
Into silence…  
Silence…_

I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why  
In my mind I've already imagined  
Our bodies entwining  
Defenseless and silent  
Now I am here with you  
No second thoughts  
I've decided  
Decided…

_Past the point of no return  
No going back now  
Our passion play has now at last begun  
Past all thought of right or wrong  
One final question-  
How long should we two wait before we're one?_

When will the blood begin to race  
The sleeping bud burst into bloom  
When will the flames at last  
Consume us….

Erik blinked in surprise. She was holding up too well, beside the glazed quality of her eyes, her voice was going from strength to strength, something he had never counted on. Christine had not met his Don Juan with the passion and lust of this seventeen year old girl. _(Erik: Wait, did you just write LUST? Authoress: Yep.What, you're going to censor me for it? Erik: Well… no… but… Authoress: But what? Erik: But Lust? Authoress: Ah, build a bridge… then burn it.)_

Past the point of no return!  
The final threshold!  
The bridge is crossed  
So stand and watch it burn…  
We've passed the point of no return… Her knees were beyond supporting her weight, she let Erik take it in his arms. Vaguely, she saw Christine standing and watching in horror, then rush from the Box. As Erik's arms tensed around her, she realised that Erik must have seen it too.

_Say you'll share with me  
One love, one lifetime_ He sang, not to Sam but to his missing Angel  
_Lead me, save me from my solitude  
Say you want me with you  
Here, beside you  
Anywhere you go, let me go too…  
Christine, that's all I ask of…_ he cut himself off where he had before, cringing away from her. He knew the part meant she had to take off the mask and he didn't want to hear the screams of the audience again. Sam's fingers brushed against his cheek, caressing the cold skin lightly, exploring it with shy fingertips that moved over the edges of his mask and towards the side. He flinched.

"Take it off!" Reyer hissed. "Take it off you fool!" Sam's eyes darted between Erik and the stage below in fear.

"I can't" she whispered the two syllables so softly that even Erik barely heard it. In a second, her heel flashed backwards, knocking the lever that would drop them both beneath the stage. Even without the added fright of Erik maskless, the audience screamed. Surely such a drop would kill them?

"Oh my God!" Tristan exclaimed hoarsely, staring blankly at the empty hole through which his charming co star had dropped with that… that… monster!

"How can I get down there?" He demanded, grabbing Madame Giry's arm forcefully.

"Monsieur, please, show a little self control! Let go of me! You must continue the performance like nothing has happened. Never mind the demands of Death's Henchwoman, I doubt she cares right now. Her life is on the line and she must concentrate on that rather than the performance."

"My God… it's Samantha, isn't it? Samantha is Death's Henchwoman! I am in love with a criminal!" With a deep scowl, Madame Giry slapped him sharply, twice on each cheek.

"Monsieur Matthews, you are being quite unreasonable! That girl's life is a peculiar story, one which I sincerely doubt you would understand even if all of us who knew her story were to explain it! She has done what was necessary for her to survive and I doubt you can condemn her for that!" The ballet mistress frowned deeply and wondered whether she should slap the baritone once more. Sam would have, so she did.

"What was that for?" Tristan complained, rubbing his red cheeks.

"Her. You deserve it. Say that you love her and then call her a criminal. Oh, you should despise yourself!" And with that, she turned to her crowd of dancers, hovering nearby.

"You! Lisette! Go to Samantha's dressing room, get into the spare Don Juan costume. You know her lines, I presume?" Lisette announced that she did, and would be able to sing the role. She ran off.


	48. Goodbye

**Chapter 48: Goodbye**

Erik dragged himself up from the ground with a deep groan. He wasn't as young as he once was. Sam, who had dropped onto the flagstones barefoot, was hopping around, gripping one ankle tightly and cursing hard.

"Dragon fire and ash!" She shouted suddenly. "Didn't you ever think of PADDING this floor?"

"Did you have to drop us down here?"

"Did you have to join me on stage and make me have to do this?"

"How is this my fault?"

"You knew I had to take that stupid mask off. And show your face to half of Paris. And listen to them scream in terror and revulsion. And watch you suffer." She sighed deeply, arms flailing, fingers knocking Erik's mask askew. He scowled and pulled it off, the deformed side twisted into a display of inhuman rage. Sam looked to the floor sadly.

"What, you're not going to look at me now? Like them, you're disgusted?" His hand whipped out, clamping on her chin and forcing her to look up. She whimpered slightly in pain. The putrid flesh roiled on his face as he spoke.

"Did you forget, maybe, that I look like this? That I have been a terror of half the world?" Sam cowered against his hands.

"How could I?" She sobbed. "How could I?" With a shaking hand, she reached out, one trembling finger running along his mangled cheek, twice. He shivered and smacked it away angrily.

"Don't do that!" He snapped. Unfazed, she reached out again, like a blind child reaching for comfort. He trapped her hand against his cheek with eyes closed. "Oh Christine…" The gentle hand stopped and the other swung through the air, connecting with the other cheek.

"I am NOT Christine." Sam growled. "Never call me that again." Erik grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer.

"Think yourself lucky I don't have my lasso and am disinclined to use my bare hands on you. I-" he stopped suddenly. "What is that music?"

"The final scene. The lair." Sam whispered, looking up. Tristan's voice boomed around, followed by the voices of the chorus.

"I need to get back up there." Sam hissed.

"How precisely do you expect to do that?" Erik almost laughed. Sam smirked and wrenched free of his grip.

"Easy."

"Lisette! Lisette!" A voice hissed. The young ballet rat looked over to the curtains she would soon be disappearing into before the lair scene proper. Sam was already in the wedding gown she had to appear in. Dragged behind Tristan Matthews, she came up beside Sam. "I'll take over here, lovey." Sam told her with a smile.

"Where have you been?" Tristan growled furiously.

"Never mind that, we're about to miss our cue." Tristan pushed her onto the stage. Out of the shadows, Erik appeared.

"I'll take over now, boy." He said with a wry smile.

"Oh no you won't!" Tristan said, regarding the masked Phantom of the Opera in disgust. "I'm claiming my kiss!"

"I don't think so." Madame Giry rushed forward.

"Erik, no. He has to get on stage right now." With a deep growl, Erik's cloak swirled and he disappeared behind a column. Tristan joined a nearly hysteric Sam on stage.

_Have you gorged yourself at last in your lust for blood  
Am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh?_

That fate which condemns me to wallow in blood  
Has also denied me the joys of the flesh  
This face the infection which poisons our love  
This face which earned a mother's fear and loathing  
A mask my first unfeeling scrap of clothing  
Pity comes too late!  
Turn around and face your fate!  
An eternity of this before your eyes…

Suddenly, at the look of intense longing on Sam's face, Erik was glad he hadn't taken the role. He had a sneaking suspicion she was an accomplished glomper. _(Authoress: Actually, I'm not…)_

_This haunted face holds no horror for me now  
It's in your soul that the true distortion lies…_ Both Sam and Tristan looked to where Jacques appeared, eagerly awaiting the moment where he was 'manhandled' by the opera's hottest young man in front of half of Paris.

_Wait! I think my dear, we have a guest!_

Raoul!

Sir! This is indeed an unparalleled delight.  
I had rather hoped that you would come  
And now, my wish comes true, you have truly made my night!

Let me go! Sam hissed at Tristan, meaning it both literally and metaphorically.

_Free her! Do what you like only free her! _Jacques sang, like a true hero. _(Authoress: Unlike Raoul)  
Have you no pity?_

Your lover makes a passionate plea.

Please Raoul it's useless.

I love her! Does that mean nothing? I love her  
Show some compassion

The world showed no compassion to me Erik found himself whispering the line too.

_Christine, Christine  
Let me see her_

Be my guest sir…  
Monsieur I bid you welcome  
Did you think that I would harm her?  
Why would I make her pay  
for the sins which are yours?

Order your fine horses now  
Raise up your hand to the level of your eyes  
Nothing can save you now  
Except perhaps Christine

_Start a new life with me  
Buy his freedom with your love  
Refuse me and you send your lover to his death  
This is the choice  
This is the point of no return…_

The tears I might have shed  
For your dark fate  
Grow cold and turn to tears of HATE!

Sam directed the line at Tristan and Tristan alone. His friendship had turned sour, he wanted to control her, make her his! _(Authoress: Which is technically what you tried to do to Christine. Erik: That was different. Authoress: I know, lovey.)_

_Christine forgive me, please forgive me  
I did it all for you and all for nothing_

Farewell my fallen idol and false friend  
One by one I've watched illusions shattered

Too late for turning back  
Too late for tears and useless pity

Say you love him and my life is over

Past… all though of cries for help  
No point in fighting

_For either way you choose, you cannot win  
He has to win_

So do you end your days with e, or do you send him to his grave?

Why make her lie to you to save me?

Their voices spiralled passionately on, Tristan thinking solely of the coming kiss, Sam of Erik, and Jacques of just how good the Don Juan pants looked on Tristan. _(Authoress: What? He makes me angry right now, but he has a point… that is a nice butt…)_ until finally, the trio ended with Sam's plaintive cry,

_Angel of Music  
You deceived me…_

"I gave you my mind blindly" She said sadly. In friendship, she had, not knowing that he wanted more than she was willing to give.

"You try my patience, make your choice." Sam breathed deeply. She could see the glint of hope in his eye as her final line began.

_Pitiful creature of darkness  
What kind of life have you known?  
God give me courage to show you  
You are not alone!_

Erik looked to Madame Giry in surprise as the words registered for him. The ballet mistress was smiling sadly at the seventeen year stepping resignedly towards Tristan Matthews. If she had only accepted the loss of Erik, she truly could have been happy with him. The poor boy she thought sadly if she'd met him earlier, if her heart hadn't been taken long ago, maybe. All those prayers in the chapel for nothing but a goodbye kiss.

And what a goodbye kiss! The music drove his passion to heights beyond what he'd imagined, he clung desperately to a girl he loved but who couldn't love him back, feeling that he would fall apart if he let her go. He didn't until after he was supposed to as it was and when he did, Sam stared up at him, face registering the same look as Christine's had after that kiss two years ago. She saw it as she watched, like so many others, reaching for her handkerchief. Instinctively, every woman in the house, old and young, read the young girl's heart and saw this man was not in it.

_Whoa... I've almost created another Erik... with a whole face and not quite such an angst._

Erik: Excuse me?

Oh, sorry, I mean, it's not like I could actually create a second you, it's just...

Erik: That face comment was quite damaging to my ego.

Ah, you'll live


	49. Betrayal

**Chapter 49: Betrayal**

A crowd gathered outside Sam's dressing room, men carrying roses, women wishing her well. Nadir Khan lounged on a divan, inspecting her bladed glove, Darius touched the delicately embroidered costumes in distaste, one hand near the revolver concealed in his dress coat.

"You're going to have to wear something you can run in." Nadir told her grimly. "It won't be long now, they'll be here soon." Sam nodded sadly.

"Once we get home, we will gather your possessions and be away as quickly as we can be. I have a carriage and so does Darius, we will attempt to lose anyone who might think to follow us."

"Where will I go?" She asked, allowing Madame Giry to tighten her bodice. She had on the "practise costume" from before, it was practical and easy to move in, perfect for a terrifying, headlong flight into who knew what.

"We shall decide that later. I think America or Australia, they are far away, one is a British colony and the other is a wide, open land of opportunity."

"Well, I am Australian by birth" Sam said with a tiny, wistful smile. "Dammit, why does this have to happen?" Nadir returned the sad smile.

"Because life is not fair. Erik is betrayed by Christine, who he loves beyond reason, when you stand here before me, strong and in love with him. Then of course, there's Tristan Matthews, who is desperately in love with you and knows nothing may come of it. And poor Raoul de Chagny who can't help his foppishness."

"And doesn't deserve to live."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Everyone deserves to live."

"I'm finding it very difficult to apply that to Christine Daae at the moment."

"Erik, I have to go for a moment- I've just spotted one of my friends" Christine said suddenly as they headed towards home.

"Of course. I will wait for you."

"Oh no, why don't you go and say hello to Samantha? The performance being a triumph and everything." She tried very hard to keep her voice casual.

"I don't think-"

"Erik, it's a good idea! Just go and I'll meet up with you there." Erik nodded and swept off in the direction of Sam's dressing room. Christine watched him go apprehensively for a moment then rushed off to the manager's office.

"Messieurs, I have them both." Their faces lit up.

"Where are they?" 

"Get your police, and I will lead you to them."

Sam jumped at a knock on the door. Darius's gun whipped out and aimed at the doorhandle.

"Who is it?" Madame Giry asked cautiously.

"Antoinette?" Erik's voice was relieved and muffled.

"Erik! Is there anyone with you?"

"Besides this infernal crowd of well wishers? No, I am not Tristan Matthews! Get your hands off me!" Sam snorted and bent double with laughter- or as far over as she could with the tight leather stomacher laced around her.

Darius opened the door a sliver and let the Opera Ghost in, slamming it shut quickly behind him.

"That little bitch." Sam snapped quickly, an idea flashing into her mind. "She's got us now." Nadir glared at her for a moment then gasped. 

"You're right!" He said, turning to Erik. "I certainly hope you've got an escape route out of this room."

"The door." He said simply.

"Besides that?" Sam asked, looking sick with apprehension.

"Well, I hardly think it will be needed but…" he kicked the Persian rug up to reveal a trap door. "There."

"Thank Christ" Sam moaned, tears of relief coming to her eyes.

"What on earth is wrong with all of you?" Erik asked, bewildered and rather annoyed that he didn't know what was going on.

"Christine. Police. Here. You. Me. Arrested. You. Decapitated. Me. Hung." Sam blinked a few times. "Want to do it for them?" She asked, gesturing to the tasselled ropes at the curtains.

"Samantha, you are being ridiculous and it is getting on my nerves. Really, how can you suspect her? She came back to me. She loves me."

"Where is she?"

"Speaking to a friend. She is innocent! Why do you have such a grudge against her?"

"Has she… y'know…" Sam looked at her toes, scuffing at the floor boards.

"Has she what, presicely?" Erik snapped.

"_Y'know_…" An expressive and explicit gesture completed the question. Erik blanched.

"What kind of a question is that! I'm not going to answer _that_!"

"Oh, don't get prudish on me now, Erik. This all coming from the man who wrote Don Juan Triumphant!" He glared.

"No. There, are you happy?" Sam squinted at him for a moment, head tilted to one side.

"Yes."

"Erik, I know you doubt Samantha, and you have not believed me in the past, but now you must. I have with me papers with Christine's signature, official documents!" Nadir held up two of them, pointing out the fact that it was indeed Christine's contract to hunt down the Opera Ghost and Death's Henchwoman. Erik shook his head furiously.

"You lie!" He hissed.

"Erik, please." Madame Giry snapped. "Whether or not you believe them, I beg you to go down to your house, take Samantha and these men. For me. I have asked no payment of you, no favour besides the help I asked for my dear little Meg. Let this favour be my payment for carrying your messages."

Sam stared in wonder at the proud ballet mistress, pleading. She hardly believed it, and neither did Erik. After a few minutes, he sighed violently and hauled the trapdoor open with the toe of his shoe.

"Get in." He ordered. "And don't look so surprised, Nadir. This one is new, you'd not know about it at all." Sam lowered herself into the trapdoor, followed by Nadir and then Darius. They all waited as Erik slipped, eel-like, in with them. Above, Madame Giry closed the trapdoor and a scraping sound told them that she had pushed the rug back in place.

"Now go." She said sharply, stamping on the floor above their heads. Sam swore in fright and jumped forward, landing on Erik's toe. He threw her savagely away. 

"Walk."

She was reclining on Sam's divan when the door burst open. Five gendarmes, accompanied by Christine and the managers, entered.

"But Christine, this is Samantha's dressing room." Moncharmin complained. "How on earth are we to find the ghosts in here?"

"Samantha is Death's Henchwoman. She was staying with the Opera Ghost." Christine replied, sounding aggravated.

"_Bon nuit_, messieurs, Mademoiselle." Madame Giry said coolly, standing. Five rifles were aimed at her.

"Put those down, you fools! That is the ballet mistress!" Firmin shouted furiously. The rifles were lowered.

"Now, where are they?" He hissed. Madame Giry's gaze remained blank.

"Where are who?" She asked.

"Death's Henchwoman and the Opera Ghost?"

"Who is Death's Henchwoman? I know the Opera ghost but not this other."

"The soprano who should be in this room." Firmin raged.

"Ah…" Madame Giry frowned. "She suddenly rushed out, saying that she had to go and see someone. Two men took her." She lied easily.

"Check her story with the people outside." Moncharmin ordered.

"But monsieur, we sent them away." One of the gendarmes complained. Madame Giry smirked secretively, her expression becoming regretful as soon as attention was turned back to her.


	50. They're Coming

**Chapter 50: They're Coming**

"Well, that was a disaster. Maybe you really are on his side." Firmin growled at Christine, eyes narrowed irritably. Raoul appeared in the doorway, red faced and gasping for breath.

"On his SIDE!" Christine screeched. "On his SIDE? He nearly killed my fiancée and his little friend tried to do it again- this time she tried to get me too!" 

"All right! All right!" Moncharmin placated her, fearing an outburst like one of Carlotta's. "Where else could we find them?" Christine looked to the floor, noticing an upturned corner of the carpet and a section of differently coloured flooring.

"His lair. Follow me."

"See? No gendarmes here to arrest me." Erik said, eyeing Sam warily. She was looking around forlornly.

"They'll be following." Nadir said dully. "Mademoiselle, we should go now, It could be fatal to delay." Erik snorted.

"Stop being so damned melodramatic!" he exclaimed, "this is getting to be beyond a joke." With a scowl, Sam stepped up and slapped him sharply.

"Shut up. You are blind to the truth and therefore can't have an input." The two Persians smiled at the display. This was their first proper experience of the two together; the last being when Erik was broken out of jail. Both had to admit, Sam had a firey soul to match Erik's though was far more idle and complacent. At times it was hard to tell if she was even awake!

There was a clattering in the stable passage and Madame Giry and Tristan appeared, out of breath.

"They are coming, Christine is leading them here." She panted. Tristan looked from Sam to Erik slightly behind her. _(Erik: I've found a flaw in him. Your almost Welsh lover-boy. Authoress: What shiznit you talking, about a lover boy? He's a friend. Erik: He's a Raoul-ish version of me. Authoress: Egads! How so? Erik: He plays me, yet has to be led by Madame Giry down here to try and 'save' you.)_

for the first time, Sam heard Nadir curse. "Samantha, we must go. Now." He beckoned to her and she shook her head, looking panicked.

"Samantha, please!" Tristan pleaded, still in the Don Juan shirt. "Please!" She hesitated before again shaking her head.

"Why not?" He demanded, an almost panicked look in his eyes. Very faintly, those who were listening picked up the sound of someone sloshing through the water distantly.

"I can't." She replied simply. "I'm not going to leave him." Tristan's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"I've loved you since about a week after we first met." He said hollowly. "And I've been defeated by a man with half a face." He looked up at Erik, expression unreadable. "I can't believe you still long for that vapid little hussy leading Paris's finest police down here to kill you when you have a veritable little lioness who'd very obviously die for you right here." In three strides, Tristan had crossed to Sam, looking down on her.

"Tell me truthfully. Are you Death's Henchwoman?" He asked blandly. After a moment, Sam nodded.

"If I wasn't possibly going to lose my life over it, I'd probably have curtseyed and said 'at your service'" she paused with a rueful smile. "Ah, what the heck." She bent into a swift curtsey. "At your service."

"Odd that in a moment that you say is so very dramatic and suspenseful, you still manage to behave like a capering fool." Erik sniffed.

"If you don't believe now, Erik, you deserve whatever fate they're going to give you." Madame Giry said coldly. "And-" she cut herself off as the sound of movement and voices became even louder, and torchlight began to flicker on the rocky walls.

"Antoinette Giry, Tristan Matthews, get her out of here right now!" Nadir ordered, gesturing at Sam, who clenched her jaw and jumped away from Tristan.

"NO!" She roared, kicking him as he tried to grab her. "I'm not going to leave Erik!" The phantom himself was staring heartbrokenly at the rising grille over the entrance to his lair- there was Christine followed by Raoul, who was holding her hand, and a large number of gendarmes. The truth finally hit him like he had been stabbed through the heart.

"Come on, Samantha! Now!" Tristan's hands clenched around her wrist and she fought like a mad thing to shake him off, throwing herself towards the stunned Erik.

"Erik?" She whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek gently with the palm of her hand. He barely glanced at her. So great was his shock that he barely even flinched as his mask was removed and Tristan swore in revulsion.

"It doesn't look like I'm going to get a chance to do this any other time." Sam said, cupping his bare face in both hands, tilting his chin down so that he was forced to look into her eyes. "And there won't be time for you to find your lasso to Punjab me either, so I am going to do it whether you like it or not." He barely had time to register the defiant look in her eyes before she had lunged forward to kiss him with all the urgency of someone who was sure they were about to die.


	51. Is This The End?

**Chapter 51: Is This the End?**

It was a true shock to Christine's system to enter Erik's lair and find him entwined in an extremely passionate kiss with the Death's Henchwoman when only half an hour ago he had been pressing those cold, deformed lips to her own. But he hadn't tried anything like that! With the arms so tight she doubted Sam could breathe and the expression of bliss on his face… and, well, she hadn't exactly had her hands in his hair… no, she'd been pushing away, trying not to stare at his face.

A rifle shot made her jump. Erik and Sam stopped kissing, at least. But she still clung to him and he to her. Christine's heart wrenched painfully to see Madame Giry standing near the phantom, the Persian who had helped Raoul and, the greatest shock of all, Tristan Matthews also there. She had been sure he would have supported her side!

"Monsieur Opera Ghost and Mademoiselle Death's Henchwoman, please step forward." Firmin called, a scowl deep on his face. His three thousand franc evening suit was destroyed while a gondola had sat docked by the stairs on their path! With heads held high, Sam and Erik stepped forward, arm in arm.

"Monsieur, you are under arrest for murder, extortion, kidnap and assault. Mademoiselle, you are under arrest for murder, assault, theft and extortion."

"Theft!" Sam spat, "I never stole ANYTHING! And I never murdered anyone either."

"You did, actually." Erik whispered. "Outside my jail cell." Pride dawned on Sam's face.

"Ok, so I did kill someone. But he deserved it, he had a knife at my throat!" She shouted defiantly.

"Stop talking!" one of the gendarmes shouted, flicking the safety on his rifle, ready to shoot. Sam took one step back, hearing and knowing what it meant.

"Oh, put that down!" Moncharmin shouted nervously, "it's not like they can run anywhere, and they're obviously not armed. Just go up there and arrest them without shooting anyone!" Nadir flipped the bladed glove out of his robes, nudging it towards Darius, who pushed it to Madame Giry with his toe. The ballet mistress looked down, saw it and nodded. With a rush of adrenaline, she widened her eyes, feigning terror.

"Oh my God!" She wailed, falling into a faint. Everyone actually in the lair rushed to her. Sam noticed her glove by the woman and smiled.

"You're a genius, Madame Giry. You know that? A bloody genius!" She whispered and received a faint smile in return. Sam slipped the glove into a pouch sewn into the lining of her skirt and helped the others to carry the ballet mistress to a couch as the gendarmes closed in.

"Run. Now." Tristan hissed to her. "You and Erik. My carriage is in the stables, take it and get out!" This comment puzzled Sam.

"Rather courageous." She remarked drily. "What about you?"

"I'll tell them I came with Madame Giry believing that I could capture the pair of you with trickery. They'll blame the stupidity on my English nature and look no further into it."

"You're very sure of yourself on that" Erik added drily. "Why exactly do you want to help me?"

"I would be helping her. Not you." Tristan said, barely keeping his gaze level with Erik's face so close to his.

"What are you whispering about?" one of the gendarmes shouted uneasily.

"Why are you shouting, you're barely a metre away from us?" Sam complained, a definite tremor in her voice. A rifle was levelled at her.

"I said no guns!" Moncharmin screeched from where he stood, knee deep in water, safely away from the two 'ghosts' who had been the objects of nightmare after nightmare.

"Monsieur, you know what that monster and his mistress are! We cannot treat with them with anything less than violent suspicion. Sam made a loud, indignant noise and Erik slapped a hand over her mouth.

"Put your guns away." He said coolly. "We are unarmed, I do not even have my lasso. You can receive clarification from Christine Daae on that. Who is, by the way, more my mistress than that hulking little guttersnipe." Sam looked at him in fury.

"I thought you said you and… that THING never… and a HULKING guttersnipe?" She trailed off, mouth opening and closing in disgust. He winked discreetly and her lip curled.

"Oich" she grunted, motioning to hit him. Another gun levelled at her.

"Put them down" One gendarme commanded, glaring at Sam. "They're unarmed, we'll have no trouble from them." (Authoress: 'Swhat you think… Erik: We are in a very awkward situation. How do you propose to get us out of this one? Authoress: (taps side of nose and winks))

Christine, feeling brave with her fop by her side, stepped forward, frowning faintly.

"You suit each other, you know" she said.

"Compliments are always welcome" Sam said easily, smiling as Erik gaped angrily.

"How so?" Christine quailed slightly under his gaze.

"Well… you're both very likely quite insane… and obsessed with…" Sam cut her off with a laugh.

"My dear, if you can't come up with something good, don't try to insult us." The rifles all found themselves in the air again.

"Now you've done it." Erik hissed, "you know, if there was ever a time I wanted your insane little friends to show up, this is it."

"I know what you mean- I wish they were here too…" Sam replied wistfully.

That can be arranged a hasty scribble rushed across the air in front of them. One of the gendarmes shot at it and it giggled.

"What seems to be the problem?" Mel asked, tucking an ITC marker into her collar. Beside her, a shorter, blonde girl looked around with a bemused smile on her face.

"Trouble again, Sammy? You've really got to stop getting on people's nerves." Adi grinned at her. "Well, it's not Castlegard, and he's not Marek. But he looks a little like a Gerik." She gestured up at the scowling figure of Erik, unfazed by his masklessness.


	52. Heh Hello, Everybody

**Chapter 52: Heh… Hello, Ever'body…**

Within minutes, a vast crowd had appeared between the gendarmes and the two ghosts. Not only DBCAians, but people from outside who Sam vaguely recognised, amongst them the welcome figures of Mary Anne Talbot, a loyal Fanfiction. Net reviewer, who eyed the fop with unmasked disgust.

"Well done, Erik." Sam said, puzzled by the sudden appearance of an army. For every person was armed in some way, cheesegraters, broadswords, maces, baseball bats and many other sorts of weapons were frequent amongst the crowd. The gendarmes were out of their wits with fear at this sudden development, especially upset by the fearful presence of two pirates in the front, brandishing old fashioned pistols. The smaller of the two, grinning up from beneath a captain's hat was a girl!

"Me? What did I do? How did all these people get here? What in God's name have you done?" Erik snapped quickly.

"Wasn't me." Sam retorted.

T'was me. The messy scrawl appeared again.

"Adi? Are you tampering with my phanphiction?" Sam asked with a grin.

"Who, me?" She replied innocently. "I'd more blame your muses. It was them who appeared breathless and begging."

"Calibarr Sunn? Beg? Ha, I would've loved to be there."

"That's all very well and good, but can we get to the good part?" Letters interjected, exasperated.

Christine and Raoul had been trapped on the 'ghost' side of the crowd and clung to each other in terror. Raoul's wig had come off and he hadn't even noticed in his fear. Mary Anne Talbot was coming very close, her weapon concealed by her side as she inspected attack points. Rel and Sol eyed Christine cautiously, baseball bats at the ready.

"Oh Erik, can we attack her, please?" Sam begged, tugging on the ruffles of the Don Juan shirt timidly.

"Attack who? Christine! No! How dare you even suggest it?" Erik replied in horror.

"But Erik!" Sam whined, "the sight of Sol and Rel double teaming her with the baseball bats is just so sadistically appealing… on so many levels!"

"You really thought that out, didn't you?"

"Not really, it was spontaneous."

"Oh. Well, in that case, I'm turning my back on all coming actions."

Sam grinned and winked to her companions. "One, two, three, ATTACK CHRISTINE!" She cried. The crowd had been ready for it and those not busy antagonising the gendarmes and trying to make them drop their guns in the dirty lake pounced on both Raoul and Christine. Not feeling like joining in for once, Sam leaned against a candlestick and observed, a very wide smile on her face as she did so.

Cap'n Meg and Jack had taken to actually fighting the gendarmes, their pistols smoking. They really did work very well together, she thought, it was the perfect pirate pair. Debz was torn between killing Christine and taking revenge on the people who wanted to hang her friend Sam. In the end, she joined the Raoul/ Christine scuffle with great glee.

Letters was putting her boot into the managers, and Sam had never seen them cower so deeply to even Carlotta! There were already bruises appearing on their powdered skin. Heather and E.B.C were also laying into gendarmes, sure that there would be plenty of fop-bashing time after the gendarmes were disarmed… and dismembered. They were effective workers, having knocked three each senseless. Sargnaegelchen and Cricket rounded out the gendarme extermination squad, her muse Sara had a bic and was definitely skilled with it. Sanne, Sam's muse, watched on in a mixture of appreciation of her skill and horror that she was so effective. House swung his cane, a sword suddenly on the end of it. It also was an effective weapon, but Sam missed the tinsel. It really was becoming.

Calibarr Sunn had arrived with the giant lion Snarglepuss, whose roar was near on deafening. He batted at Tristan in annoyance with a paw the size of a dinner plate, though Sam was glad to note his claws weren't out. He'd turned out a bloody annoying half-fop, but he had offered to help them run. That was something, at least.

Debz, Eriksmistress, lady-of-the-night, Adi and Mel were surrounding a screaming fop. Wincing, Sam handed Mary-Anne Talbot, who was heading towards the group, one of Erik's socks. She wrinkled up her nose, accepted it, and stuffed it in the fop's mouth. Amid the dust, only the sound of pounding and cheesegratering could now be heard.

If you have not had the misfortune of smelling one of Erik's unwashed socks, please allow me to tell you that you are very lucky. So lucky, in fact, that it is quite likely you will win the lottery every day for the rest of the month. It is one of the vilest stenches you are likely to come across outside the bog of eternal stench, because Erik's feet smell worse than death. Because the rest of him smells okay for what Christine described as death. Quite like roses actually… but that is more than enough digression, and I am quite sure you'd all much prefer to be reading about the not-exactly-a-battle going on in the lair.

"Hold her down!"

"Hit her harder!" Cries such as these filled the air around Christine, who was being pinned to the ground by Renn, smgirl and Erik's Vampire Sol and Rel were clearly enjoying themselves far too much, Rel using a wooden bat, Sol wielding a black steel one. Even Madame Giry had given the former soprano a severe whack to the head with her cane when she tried to get up! Beside Sam, Erik cringed slightly with every hit, but Sam decided it was therapeutic for him to hear his former beloved being smashed to a bloody pulp by two crazed teenagers swinging baseball bats.

Well, it was very enjoyable for her, in any case.

_Anyone not mentioned here will probably be mentioned in the next chapter_.


	53. Raoul's Most Evil, Foppish Confession

**Chapter 53- Raoul's Most Evil, Foppish Confession**  
With the gendarmes subdued very effectively, there was very little room to move around Raoul and Christine. All Sam could see, grinning madly with a faintly sympathetic hand on Erik's shoulder, was a flurry of arms, cheesegraters, cloaks, swords and bats.

"Hey, guys, I can't see!" She complained. Asthenia's head appeared.

"Oh. Sorry Sam! Come on, let's move, Sam can't see!" There was a lot of stumbling as everyone split, almost like a cloaked version of the Red Sea in the Bible.

"Dear Lord…" Was all Sam could say. Two people lay on the ground. One was Christine, bleeding freely and breathing very shallowly. Either she was about to die for real, or she was in a coma. Sam found herself not exactly caring which it was.

The other, she was shocked to see, was Aminta Kristine, of the DBCA. Dead. As. A. Doornail.

"HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!" Raoul screamed. "I KILLED HER!" There was a loud collective gasp.

"How did you manage that?" Adi asked, looking from the fop to her prone minion, bewildered. It was common knowledge that 'Mintie' was a Sue, and as everyone knows, killing Sues is practically impossible. More than one DBCA sue hunt had proved that.

"I did all my own stunts in the movie! I'm not so weak as you idiots think I am! In fact, I'm incredibly smart! It was me, all along! I came up with the plot to catch him! And her!" He pointed at Sam and Erik. Another collective gasp echoed around the lair.

"And I caused the cookie shortage of 1865!" Erik gasped.

"That was you? I wanted to hang whoever did that!" Sam turned to him, a rather comical expression on her face.

"Cookies, Erik?" He shrugged.

"How is it, do you think, that I was not addicted to opium or morphine when you arrived?"

"I always thought it was a plothole."

"Have I told you lately that you're an idiot? Because you are."

"Compliments are always welcome."

"HEY!" The fop protested. "I was evilly coming clean on all of my dastardly foppish deeds!"

"Please. Continue." Echo said faintly.

"Thankyou. Ahem. Where was I?"

"Umm… cookie shortage of 1865"

"Right." He cleared his throat. "It was I! It was I who stole Meg Giry's ballet slippers and hid them in Carlotta's underwear drawer!"

Sam started hopping from foot to foot, fingers pressed into her eyes. "The images! The images! They burns us!"

" I only wanted to marry Christine so I could live out my dream of becoming a world famous hair and make up artist slash choreographer!"

Mel's head shot up. "Slash?"

"It was I who gave Lord Voldemort the idea to become an evil wizard! He was my protégé! My PROTÉGÉ GOD-DAMMIT!"

Everyone present blinked.

"wrong fandom." Renn announced suddenly.

"Shut up! You're just trying to squash my dreams of dictatorship in which I rule and force pink spandex on all men!"

"I've heard about enough." Erik, Sol and Rel said at once. Raoul went down with a lasso tight around his neck, two baseball bats on his thick skull and Meg's sword stuck in him.

"Raoul darling?" Christine murmured.

"AAAAAAAAARGH!" Sam screamed. "I thought she was dead!"

Erik ran to the fallen diva and shook her slightly. Sam went white and smgirl, Sol, Debz and Sanne ran forward to make sure she didn't fall into a faint.

"He'd go back to her even now?" liriel-eris whispered. "Sam, your Erik is as thick as they come."

Couldn't agree more." Muirgen added. Erik looked up to them, then to Sam, back down to Christine. His shoulders slumped and he sighed deeply, standing and moving away.

He returned a minute or two later, nobody was really sure of time any more. Tristan had taken Sam from the arms of her friends and sat her down on a couch between Nadir and Darius. Madame Giry left, realising she had been in the lair for over two hours and needed to get back to her misguided little rats.

The members of the DBCA and had found a sheet that they had wrapped Raoul's body in, lady-ofthenight, who was in fact Sam's sister, suggesting that they set it alight. Meg and Jack had offered to supply the rum to put the burning into practise, but the motion had been turned down, incase they set the whole lair on fire.

Erik once again knelt by Christine. "Frog!Erik." Adi coughed, eliciting a few giggles.

"Goodbye, Christine." He whispered, pouring a little of a clear liquid down her throat and looking up to the others.

"She would not have woken properly from that coma you put her in. And I would not see my angel paralysed for life." He told them all sadly. Nadir buried his face in the sleeves of his robe, pale under his dark skin.

"Yes, Nadir, it was the same one as what I used on your son." He remarked heavily, going to his friend and laying a hand on his shoulder gently.

"Master, perhaps we should return home." Darius suggested.

"Yes. Perhaps we should. And Mister Matthews would do well to accompany us. There is much we can tell him, that he doesn't yet understand."

"Like why I didn't just run off with you over old scarface here?" Sam asked sadly, but with a smile. Tristan hesitated, eyeing Erik warily, then nodded. Erik struggled not to laugh as the three men got up to leave.

"Goodbye, Erik." Nadir said. "For the second time. This time, I feel we will not meet again." Erik bowed his head.

"Goodbye, my friend." Suddenly, Aminta's blonde head shot up.

"Tristan! If she won't go with you, I will!" She called, getting to her feet. "Wait for meeee!" And she ran out after them, leaving everyone else blinking.

"Wasn't she just dead?" Sargnaegelchen asked.

"She's a Sue, obviously of the regenerative sort…" Adi said, sounding dazed.

"What about you two?" Renn asked.

"Well, no, he's an angst and I'm… wait, what am I?"

"The angst's companion? Death's Henchwoman? Little Lathril? Sam?" Sara offered.

"Let's go with Little Lathril." Sam laughed, hollowly, turning to Erik.

"This is it. The true final threshold. And it's your choice. Will you have me stay with you, or will I go back to reality. Whatever reality is." She asked. "It's all up to you."

Every pair of eyes stared hesitantly at Erik, awaiting his answer.

AHA! Haha! Hah... heh... heh... hum.. giggle... herm... Cookie shortage... Protege... Bloody fop.


	54. That's Right Erik, Blame Sam

**Chapter 54: That's Right, Erik. Blame Sam.**

He stared down at the girl who had turned his life inside out and upside down, not knowing what to say. There were arguments for and against her presence in his life.

With her, he wasn't lonely. Her presence could be so very annoying, but just having someone by him was true comfort in itself. He had lived so long, forty years, with no one daring to get close. And now here was someone who wanted nothing more than to be with him. And he couldn't deny that she had been the cause of contentment. His nightmares had brought her, weeping to his side, any trouble he found himself in (usually caused by her in the first place) she was there to get him out of.

She loved him. There was no more denying it. It was in her every move, word, breath. She looked on his unmasked face and was affected, there was fear in her eyes when she looked upon his ravaged face but no revulsion, only acceptance and kindness… no, not kindness. It was more than that. It was love.

On the other hand, she was so much trouble! Every problem in his life since her arrival he could trace back to her! This night was the second time he had almost died because of her! _You could've just thrown her out_, his mind challenged. _The moment she could walk, you could've shown her the door and never had to worry about her again. It's your own stupid fault Erik. Not hers._ She could be so annoying, yet annoyance was soon forgotten, he realised.

Overall, she confused the hell out of him! He had just killed Christine, in mercy, he realised, so that his lost angel could die with dignity. He couldn't have given a damn if cannibals had eaten her alive, screaming his name the whole time any more, now that she was dead.

And when Sam was around him! He didn't know whether to laugh, scream, kiss her or choke her to death half the time! Aggravation caused endearment; endearment caused aggravation… he didn't know what to do with her.

He felt the sweat running down his brow as he tried to decide. Alone again, or with a companion? Everyone was staring at him, maskless, he finally remembered. Sam's fault, he growled in his mind. Why wasn't he furious, scrabbling for the white leather that would hide him from their eyes? Sam's fault.

He reached a decision. And that was Sam's fault too.


	55. That's Not A Real Decision!

The END! GASP Actually, there's an epilogue. and if i can pull it together, and be bothered, a sequel. Enjoy.

**Chapter 55: That's Not A Real Decision!**

"Samantha." Erik growled hesitantly, "I have reached my decision. You will choose." Sam rolled her eyes.

"Listen to me!" He added, aggressively. "My reign as the Opera Ghost is truly over now. I can offer you little more than myself." He rolled his eyes, to his own ears that sounded pathetic. "I doubt they" he gestured at the gendarmes brave or stupid enough to stay "will ever stop hunting me. Or us. You'd never be safe, I doubt you'd be very secure. There wouldn't be any more fancy gowns or masquerades, I don't think. Just us, on the run or in hiding."

"Then so be it." Sam replied desicively. "It's far too late to turn back now." Erik stared at her.

"You don't care?"

"When have I ever cared?" Sam's little sister stepped forward.

"So you won't come home?" she asked. Sam smiled and shook her head.

"I am home. Wherever he is, I am. And that's home enough for me." She pulled the blonde into a hug. "Besides, I don't think mum approves of the man in my life." She winked and ladyofthenight/Kimberley grinned and nodded.

"You're right there, sis."

"This is all very touching and all that" Sanne yawned, "but Erik, would you hurry up and kiss her for Christ's sake?"

"Yeah!" Sara added, "Kiss her!"

"Go on!" The DBCA chorused. Erik looked down at Sam nervously. She grinned mischievously back.

"The adoring fans insist, my dear." He sighed heavily.

"Fans or phans?" Erik considered.

"Both." And he kissed her.


	56. Epilogue: Because You NEed One, Dontcha?

**Epilogue: Just Cause You Need One, Don'cha?**

_July 20th, 1872_

"Erik, do you remember telling me that there would be no more masquerades or fancy frocks?" Sam teased, looking up at him, readjusting his frock-coat.

"Yes. I think I do. But even the world's most infamous Opera Ghost can be wrong every now and then." Their carriage jolted to a stop and a footman opened the door.

"Welcome to the Metropolitan Opera House. I hope you enjoy your evening, Mister Erik." They stepped out to see a sign proclaiming that it was the opening night of Erik's The Nightingale and the White Rose, a critically acclaimed opera lasting three hours and telling the story of a disfigured magician who fell in love with the most beautiful princess in Persia, betrothed to her evil uncle. Their tragic love story had made an instant hit and a large amount of money for the mysterious composer who only appeared at masquerade events.

Sam and Erik had attended openings in some of Europe's finest capitals- London, Rome, Berlin, Oslo and Madrid, they had not gone to see it in Paris, in fact, it was not being performed in Paris! The next stop would be Sydney, Australia, and Sam was trying to convince Erik to stop off in Melbourne, the city she loved, only an hour's drive from her home in Geelong. She hoped Erik would take a little trip out there too, to see where, in nearly 150 years, her journey would start, as she fell down an uncovered manhole on the way to school.

"Erik! It's packed!" Sam gasped in awe.

"I know. The crowds get bigger with each performance." He looked out across New York's crowds. "I've booked us Box Five." (Authoress: hoping there is a box five in the Met…) Sam grinned and followed him inside.

"Before I forget" Erik murmured as the curtains went up, "Happy eighteenth birthday." He kissed her on the cheek and presented a small box to her and a red rose, tied with a black and a green silk ribbon. She grinned and ripped the present open. Nestled on a black velvet cushion sat a twin to the bladed glove she kept in a glass box, gleaming with care. But what nearly caused spontaneous heart failure was the blue diamond ring on the ring finger blade of the glove. She spun to look into Erik's amused eyes.

"What the hell is…"

"What do you think?"

"I think if that's what I think it is, my answer's going to be yes."

(Authoress: awww… I left it open. Erik never specifies what the hell it was, engagement, or just a present. Erik: No. It's up for audience interpretation. Authoress: And, of course, now we come to the moral of our story-

Both: You can't explain obsession… it just is.)

**FINIS**

Sanne and Sara (creepy voices): Or is it?…

I don't know, is it?

Sanne: well, you're the authoress. You SHOULD know…


End file.
